


Ascension

by Tarangifer



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Action, Ancient Egypt, Arranged Marriage, Canon Expansion, Canon Related, Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Forced Marriage, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, Magic, Millennium World, Mystery, Politics, Quests, Rebellion, Scheming, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Suspense, Worldbuilding, longfic, regular updates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 169,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23342734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarangifer/pseuds/Tarangifer
Summary: A rebellious uprising. An arranged marriage. A rising threat against Egypt. How will the youngest son of Pharaoh Aknamkanon cope with them all?[My take on the Dawn of the Duel/Millennium World Arc. Tons of OCs and pre-canon worldbuilding. Some events changed but expect it to be mostly canon-compliant! :) ]
Relationships: Atem (Yu-Gi-Oh)/Original Female Character(s), Implied Thief King Bakura/Male OC, Yami Yuugi | Atem/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 45





	1. Uprising

**AN:** I recently fell down the Yu-Gi-Oh rabbit hole after not having watched/read it for over a decade. I never actually knew how the DotD/Millennium arc ended, so when I finally finished both the manga and the anime, I was actually kind of disappointed at how little time was spent in ancient Egypt. Poor Atem was on the throne for what… 2 days before he disappeared? Not much of a legacy if you ask me. So I came up with this little scenario to give Atem a bit of color to his backstory and some claims to fame other than sealing himself in the puzzle for 3,000 years. That said, this will obviously be a bit off-canon (for the arc in question, at least), and I fully admit that my knowledge of the dueling/magic casting rules of this universe are foggy at best, so excuse any departures on that front. Regardless, I hope you enjoy my little story! Subscribe/bookmark/comment if you do :)

* * *

Atem clutched his chest in pain. No matter how many times he dueled, he would never get used to the way he could feel every injury dealt to his spirit creature. He looked up to see the apparition he had summoned doubled over just as he was. Naladeus was a powerful creature — a spellcaster cloaked in animal skins and sporting a large summoning staff — but she was no match for her opponent: Krokodilis, the crocodile warrior, loomed over her and bared his sharp white teeth in a grin of satisfaction before sweeping his long, green-scaled tail and piercing Naladeus’ heart.

Atem collapsed to his knees as Naladeus turned to dust before his eyes.

A moment later, triumphant laughter erupted from behind Krokodilis. “Well done, little brother — you lasted almost twice as long as our last duel! But you still have much to learn.”

Atem sat back on his heels as his brother, Tefnak stepped into the light. Twenty-four years old to Atem’s nineteen, and with all the experience to match, Tefnak was everything Atem was not: sculpted in Ra’s image, he had shoulders as broad as a hypostyle pillar and arms powerful enough to lift one. His closely trimmed beard accentuated the mature angles of his jaw and set the backdrop for his pearly-white smile. Atem and his brother resembled each other only in small ways: in the calm violet eyes they shared with their mother, and in their dark hair streaked with blonde and tipped in indigo, which Tefnak wore cropped close to his head on one side and windswept on the other. With his striking good looks and charismatic personality, Tef turned heads wherever he went.

The crown prince laughed again and stepped down into the dueling pitch, waving his arm to disperse his summoned monster back to its tablet, which stood erected at the back of the domed arena. As his brother approached, Atem moved to stand. Tef reached out to assist, pulling Atem up easily by his shoulders and dusting him off. 

“I’m sorry if I disappointed you, brother,” Atem said quietly. He avoided Tefnak’s eyes, instead staring intently at the Millennium Ring around his brother’s neck.

“Nonsense!” Tef boomed. “You gave it your best, right?”

Atem looked up and nodded.

“Then that’s all I can ask for,” Tef said. “Keep practicing, and one day you’ll best me. I have faith in you.”

Atem felt a stirring in his soul at this. In his father’s court, he was surrounded by inspiring individuals — powerful priests and fearsome warriors — but there was no one he looked up to more than Tefnak.

“Come, let us replenish our souls with food and drink and tell Father of our harrowing battle!”

Tef ruffled Atem’s hair before taking him under his arm and leading the way out of the training arena.

Before they left, Tef stopped to give some directions to the guards who had come to take the stone summoning slabs back to their sanctuaries. Five years ago, their father the Pharaoh had bequeathed to Tefnak the Millennium Ring, naming him Chief Priest of the Royal Conclave — the most prestigious sect of spellcasters hand-picked from all across Egypt. As such, he spent nearly all of his spare time in the training complex — and as Tef’s shadow, Atem was no stranger to it either. Waging duels and leading his priests was Tefnak’s true passion, but Atem knew his brother was only one heartbeat away from being Pharaoh of all Egypt — and that meant Atem himself would need to be ready to take his brother’s place as military commander at any moment. While this was a fate that excited him and inspired him, it also gave him great anxiety knowing he was still a novice in magical manipulation compared to Tef.

As they walked the halls back to the main palace, Atem and Tefnak recounted the turns of their recent battle with joy. They were about to round the corner to the main hall when a high, bright voice rang out behind them: “Papo!”

A shining smile was already plastered on Tef’s face by the time he turned to see the tiny form of his five-year-old son streaking out of the darkness at him. “Meriti!” Tef cried, kneeling down and opening his arms. Meriti flung himself into the waiting embrace, and Tef grunted with joy as he lifted the boy high above his head. “My little soldier! What are you doing prowling the dark halls like a ghoul, huh?”

A soft laugh from behind them announced the arrival of Nebetah, Tef’s wife. Her warm skin glowed in the torchlight, her wild black curls forming a sweeping halo around her head. “You try keeping up with an energetic young boy for a whole day,” she said, chuckling, “then ask that question again.”

“Neb, my love,” Tef said. He put Meriti on his shoulder, then shifted to embrace and kiss his wife. Neb was then quick to turn to Atem, grinning playfully.

“So,” she said. “Did you finally put him in his place?”

Embarrassed, Atem smiled and shook his head.

“Next time, for sure,” Tef interjected.

“No way!” Meriti cried. “Nobody can beat Papo in a duel! He’s  _ invincible!” _

Tef smiled and tickled Meriti. “No man is invincible, my son. You’d do well to remember that.”

Meriti giggled. “Yes, Papo.”

The four of them continued on to the great hall to find the dinner feast already waiting for them. Their father, the great Pharaoh Aknamkanon, was seated at the head of the table, and his advisors — the Sacred Guardians of the Millennium Items — were crowded around him, speaking in hushed tones.

Unsurprisingly, Isis was the first to notice their presence. She turned, her Millennium Necklace gleaming. A silence fell over the remaining five priests. A moment later, they dispersed to their own seats at the other end of the table, leaving only Shimon, the Pharaoh’s vizier and Guardian of the Millennium Key, standing by the king’s side. Atem, Tef and his family moved into the new void to sit beside the Pharaoh.

“Father, what was that all about?” Tef asked, quiet enough so only Shimon could hear, who was now seated next to Atem.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Tefnak,” the Pharaoh said. “We can discuss it later. For now, I want to hear about your duel with Atem.”

Tef broke out in a smile as his mind quickly changed course. He delved into the story while filling his plate with food, embellishing the details and making huge gestures with his hands. Atem simply smiled and nodded when he was addressed — Tef was definitely the more talkative of the two of them, but Atem didn’t mind it.

By the time he’d finished the story, their plates were cleared and all were sitting back in their seats, satisfied.

“A shame you couldn’t beat him this time,” Aknamkanon said to Atem. “But it sounds like it was a close duel. I hope you’re learning everything you can from your brother.”

Atem nodded enthusiastically.

“Good,” his father said. There was a pause, and Atem saw the Pharaoh and Shimon look at one another. “Then come, follow me to the war room. There’s something I wish to discuss — with both of you.”

Atem’s pulse quickened. He’d never been to the war room before. It wasn’t an area of the palace that was frequently used — most of the kingdom had been at peace since the ascension of Aknamkanon to the throne nearly thirty years prior.

His father rose from the table, prompting Atem, Tef and Shimon to do the same. Meriti waved to them all as they followed the Pharaoh out of the great hall.

Atem could feel his heart beating in time with his footsteps as they walked through the palace to the war room. Upon approach, the two guards standing watch at the entrance moved to part the doors for the king.

Atem’s eyes were immediately drawn to the large, square table at the center of the room, upon which sat a large papyrus with a scale model of Egypt painted on it. Scattered on the surface were dozens of what looked like wooden game pieces — small ships, horses and soldiers clustered across Egypt’s towns and cities. The map was worn at the edges, and the paint had begun to fade from years of the models scraping across its surface, but Atem could clearly see every major port and town labeled carefully and with canny accuracy — Raqote, Iunu, Khem to the north, Sumenu, Abdju and Akhetaten to the south. Labeled in gold to set it apart from the others was Thebes — the capital of the kingdom and home to the Pharaoh. There were wooden models of all types clustered around Thebes and its surrounding cities. Atem was quick to notice the only other city with such a presence was Memphis — the great religious and cultural site of Lower Egypt. Atem hadn’t seen the city since he was a boy, but he remembered it fondly — visiting its great temples and witnessing the impressive magic wielded by the priests of Sekhmet, the war goddess.

“My sons,” Aknamkanon spoke, causing Atem to stand up straighter. “The priests receive word from the north — a small uprising is taking root in Memphis, led by the local nomarch Metjen.”

“Rebels?” Tef hissed. “What cause do they have for stirring such treachery?”

“Calm yourself, Tefnak,” Aknamkanon said. “Rebellion is far too strong a term — their uprising has not yet grown violent. Simply whispers and idle threats at this point.”

Shimon spoke up now. “Metjen and his court are more …  _ traditional _ when it comes to the use of magic in our kingdom,” he explained. “Put simply, they consider the Millennium Items to be heretical.”

Tef made an offended sound. “How dare they lay such claims!” he exclaimed. “The Items have secured peace across the kingdom for the first time in centuries.”

“Metjen doesn’t see it that way,” the king responded. “Remember, Tefnak, that there was once a time when priests and spellcasters could only summon the  _ ka _ which lived within their own souls. Now, with the construction of the Wedju Shrines, those we anoint to our Conclave can summon any of the thousands of creatures we have sealed in stone.”

Tef scoffed. “So you’re saying he’s envious of our abilities.”

“Perhaps,” Shimon said. “But we cannot discount his feelings on this matter. Metjen is a beloved and respected leader in Lower Egypt. As such, his grievances must be taken seriously.”

Tef looked vexed. “So what would you have us do, Father?”

“That is why I’ve called you both here,” Aknamkanon replied. “I would like  _ you  _ to tell me how you would approach this issue.”

Atem and Tefnak exchanged nervous glances. “Us?” Tef said. “But you are the Pharaoh. We do as you command.”

Their father smiled. “There will come a time when I will no longer be here to guide you, my sons,” he said. “Before then, I want you both to know as much about diplomacy and politics as you do about warfare and magic.”

“Father, do not speak of your death with such candor,” Tef said.

Aknamkanon laughed softly. “Anubis comes for us all,” he said. “Even god-kings must one day return to the Duat.” 

A silence hung heavy in the war room. Even the crackling torches seemed to grow quiet in the wake of the king’s words.

“So tell me, my sons,” Aknamkanon finally said. “What would you do with Metjen and his followers, if you were Pharaoh?”

Tefnak leaned over the map, his eyes tracing along the blue line of the Nile. “You say Metjen has not yet grown violent,” he started, “so a full military strike would be excessive at this point.” He paused, then took hold of one of the wooden ships from Thebes and moved it to Memphis. “Still, his treachery cannot go unpunished. Let me take a squadron of my finest men and challenge his priests to a duel. When we prevail, we will imprison his  _ ka  _ and ensure he can never use magic again.”

Aknamkanon looked hard at Tefnak. “A bold strategy, my son,” he said. “If you were to be successful, it would surely send a strong message to all of Egypt.”

Tef looked pleased. Aknamkanon turned his gaze to Atem, who met his father’s eyes nervously.

“Atem, you have been quiet,” the king said. “Tell me — do you approve of your brother’s approach?”

Atem was silent for a long time. He looked down at the wooden ship Tef had moved to Memphis. “Tefnak’s strategy would most definitely showcase the might of the crown’s magic,” Atem admitted. He spoke slowly, and avoided his brother’s eyes. “But I wonder… Isn’t magic the source of all this strife to begin with?”

Aknamkanon looked surprised, and Atem couldn’t tell if this was good or bad. “What do you mean?”

“Shimon, you said Metjen is a traditionalist, right?” Atem continued, prompting a nod from Shimon. “Well, if we travel to Memphis only to crush his uprising with magic he considers heretical, wouldn’t that only ingrain Metjen further in his dated ideology?” Atem looked from Shimon to his father. “Wouldn’t it be better to try and convince him to change his way of thinking on the matter? To show him our new powers are nothing to be afraid of?”

“And how would you propose to do that?” his father asked.

Atem reached out and picked up the Theban ship. He added a piece from Memphis to his hand, then moved them both back to Upper Egypt. “We invite Metjen and his priests to Thebes,” he said, a smile coming to his lips at how easily the plan was forming in his mind. “We show them the Wedju Shrines, and the power of the Millennium items.” For the first time, Atem looked at his brother, and his smile immediately fell. Tef looked as though he had daggers in his eyes. Atem cleared his throat and continued: “We could even treat Metjen to a sporting duel, as a way to demonstrate what he would face if he were to truly rebel.”

Not a shadow of emotion could be read on Aknamkanon’s face, and Atem was beginning to regret ever opening his mouth. After a moment though, the Pharaoh smiled, the flames flickering in his eyes. “A very wise approach, Atem,” he said. “One that may be able to preserve our relationship with Metjen.”

Atem would have been beaming if not for his brother’s eyes boring into the side of his skull from across the table.

“I will take both of your proposals to the court,” Aknamkanon continued. “Once we come to a decision, we will send word to Memphis.”

Atem nodded, still concealing his pride.

“That will be all,” the Pharaoh commanded. Atem, Tefnak and Shimon gave curt bows before turning to leave.

As the doors parted, Atem did not fail to notice the speed with which his brother left his side. Atem stood on the threshold of the war room and watched him disappear down the long, dark hall. Shimon placed a hand on Atem’s shoulder, finally wrenching his eyes away from the darkness.

“You have wisdom beyond your years, my prince,” he said. “You should be proud of yourself.”

Atem forced a half-smile, then turned back to the war room. His father was organizing a stack of papyri, but he looked up and offered a solemn nod before the guards closed the doors.


	2. Trust

It was late into the night when Satiah was roused by a rough shake of her shoulders. Her eyes flew open, greeted first by the shining face of the moon, and then by the urgent gaze of her handmaiden, Tuya. 

“Lady Satiah,” Tuya breathed. “Your presence is requested in the temple.”

Satiah sucked in a deep breath and surged to a sitting position. She nodded to Tuya, then turned back to the open window. The moon was full tonight, and the tides of the Nile would be at their highest. Had it not been for Tuya rummaging through her wardrobe, she might have even been able to hear its waves, lapping against its banks not even a mile from her family’s villa.

Satiah’s ancestors had been nomarchs of Memphis and its surrounding Ineb-Hedj nome for nearly a century, having preserved their hold on the holy land despite the comings and goings of dozens of pharaohs. Under the leadership of Satiah’s father, Metjen, the nome had survived a particularly tumultuous period of warfare and invasion from foreigners, and the land was now flourishing thanks to a renewed enthusiasm for magic across the region. But just as the tides of the Nile would soon recede, Satiah knew the power of Memphis could not grow indefinitely, and the ripples of her father’s ambition were starting to turn to waves in the royal waters of Upper Egypt.

Satiah’s eyes were wrenched away from the moon at the sound of Tuya clearing her throat. After Satiah stood and removed her sleeping gown, Tuya quickly draped a white _kalasiris_ over her shoulders and belted it with a blue sash, then dressed her feet in a pair of sandals. 

“Thank you, Tuya,” Satiah whispered as her handmaiden stood. “You can go back to bed now. I’ll make my own way to the temple.” Tuya bowed and excused herself. When she was gone, Satiah crossed the room to her bureau, upon which Tuya had already placed a basin of fresh water. Satiah splashed her face to wake up fully, patting it dry with a linen cloth, then swept down the stairs and out the door of her living quarters into the cool night air.

Quiet as a spirit, Satiah passed through the front gate of the villa complex and followed the path that led up the hill toward the great Temple of Sekhmet. The full moon outlined every beautiful detail of the temple — from its towering pylons etched with the mysteries of the gods, to the sturdy loom of parapets built centuries ago by a long-forgotten ruler. As she reached the crest of the hill, Satiah paused and looked back, nearly blinded by the sparkling reflection of the moon on the restless surface of the Nile.

“Sister.”

A low voice brought Satiah’s eyes back to the front gate of the temple. Her brother, Metka, was standing just inside, dressed as though he were ready for a journey — or a battle. A long cloak was fastened to the pauldron of his leather breastplate, draped over his front and partially concealing the staff he held clutched in one hand. His warm brown hair had been drawn up into a tight top-knot, his hazel eyes shadowed by a serious brow.

Satiah crossed through the gate into the temple courtyard, offering her elder brother a soft smile.

“Metka,” she said. “What news?”

Metka was quick to start toward the entrance of the temple, and Satiah fell into step beside him. “A message,” he said quietly, “from Thebes.”

Satiah’s heart skipped a beat. She often found a certain comfort in the validation of her intuition, but this was not one of these times.

Neither Metka nor Satiah spoke while they walked, making it easy for her to pick up on the whispers coming from the great hall as they drew nearer. The fact that her father was not alone was another unsettling development — rarely did he consult with any advisors before speaking to his children.

As they rounded the corner into the great hall, her fears were confirmed. Standing over her father’s solemn figure at the head of the table was the newest addition to the Memphis inner circle — Bakura. As far as anyone knew, this mysterious, white-haired spellcaster had been nothing more than a vagabond before arriving in Memphis six months prior. Bakura had been given an audience with her father after reports that he had saved a caravan of traders from an ambush by bandits on the outskirts of the city. The leader of the caravan told how Bakura had summoned a creature of incredible strength and vanquished the bandits in one fell swoop. In his audience before the nomarch, Bakura demonstrated the might of his creature, called Diabound, in an exhibition duel with a lesser priest of the Memphis Conclave. Diabound had easily crushed the priest’s spirit, sending the poor man to the infirmary for the afternoon to recover his exhausted _ba_.

Needless to say, Bakura left an impression on Satiah’s father. Metjen immediately welcomed Bakura into the coveted conclave of spellcasters, an honor usually reserved only for those whose ancestors had long histories of serving the nome with honor. To Satiah, there was nothing particularly honorable about Bakura. He often fought dirty, using trap tactics and excessive violence to torment his enemies into submission. The fact that he had recently wormed his way into Metjen’s advisorship had also left Satiah with a bad taste in her mouth. To make matters worse, it seemed Metka had grown _especially_ fond of Bakura over his short tenure within the Conclave, though they went to great lengths to hide their secret affections from the rest of the court.

But out of all the things that bothered her about Bakura, his white locks were possibly the most unsettling. Legend said that men with white hair had been possessed by the _ka_ of lost, vengeful souls.

Metjen turned his face away from Bakura as his children approached. Satiah did not fail to notice the sly smiles exchanged between her brother and his white-haired companion. “There they are,” Metjen said, reaching out to embrace Satiah, then Metka. “I’m sorry to wake you at this late hour,” he went on, “but this is too important to wait until morning.”

Satiah flashed her eyes to Bakura, whose smile quickly fell. “Metka said there was a message from Thebes,” she said.

Metjen nodded, his face looking suddenly serious. “Indeed.” He turned back to the table, where he snatched up a half-rolled papyrus with the royal wax seal hanging from the bottom of the page. He held it out to his children. “It appears the great Pharaoh has requested our presence in Thebes.”

Satiah stared intently at her father, ignoring the papyrus. “Why?”

Metka took the scroll and unrolled it. “‘The Great Pharaoh Aknamkanon extends to the nomarch of Ineb-Hedj a cordial invitation to the capital city of Thebes. Together with the nomarch and His Conclave of Spellcasters, the Royal Court wishes to broker an exchange of our mystical knowledge in an effort to further the unity and glory of Egypt. With the dawn of a New Millennium, it is time for the great leaders of our nation to come together and celebrate our common desire for a long and prosperous dynasty.’” Metka scoffed as he rolled the scroll back up. “‘New Millennium,’” he hissed under his breath. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Metjen laughed wryly. “The Pharaoh wishes he had such humor,” he said. “No doubt he has heard of my distaste for his cursed Millennium Items…”

“But this is good news, isn’t it?” Satiah said. Suddenly, all eyes were on her. “You heard what he said — he wants to exchange knowledge. We can use this as an opportunity to have a real conversation. To educate the royal court about the darker side of the items—”

“Satiah, don’t be a fool,” Metka interjected. “We are expendable to the great god-king. Ever since he forged those items, he’s done nothing but fill his head with delusions of grandeur.”

“I’m afraid your brother is right, my lady.” Satiah’s eyes snapped to Bakura. The slight smirk on his face caused her stomach to turn. “Traveling to Thebes would be like welcoming the Pharaoh to use the items on us. We can’t risk that.”

Satiah kept her gaze locked on Bakura’s piercing brown eyes, but in her periphery she could see her father and brother nodding his head in agreement. “Father, please consider your options here,” she said, finally wresting her gaze away from Bakura. “Would you rather face the Pharaoh with honor, or spurn him and risk retribution?”

“Careful, Satiah,” Metjen cautioned. “I value your judgement, but I will not have my honor questioned.”

“Nobody is questioning your honor, Father,” Metka said. “Satiah is simply more trusting than you or I.” Metka turned to her now, laying a condescending hand on her shoulder. “If you’re not careful, Sati, that trust will get you killed someday.”

Satiah shot him a glare and shrugged his hand away before turning back to her father. “Trust is the only thing that binds us to our brethren,” she said. “If you don’t respond, you will break all trust the Pharaoh has in you — in our family.”

Metjen turned his eyes down to the papyrus, which now sat discarded on the surface of the table beside him. “You’re right, Sati,” he said. “We can’t ignore our king.” 

Satiah felt a pang of relief, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bakura grimace.

“Metka, send for your fastest messenger.”

* * *

A bead of sweat rolled down the back of Atem’s neck, dissipating somewhere between his shoulder blades. A moment later, a gust of wind blew over the trail left behind, sending the fine hairs of his neck standing on end. Between his fingers, he clutched to cold soapstone as a soldier clutches the hilt of a sword, hard enough that he could feel the blood rushing over the veins in his palm. Breaths came to him slowly and steadily, keeping his mind centered and his eyes locked on the carved wooden board and tiny black and white pawns that lay before him.

Naturally, only the stakes of a game could put Atem in such a state. This one was called senet, and it had once been his favorite — that is, until Mahad had beaten him at it twice in a row today.

Atem flashed his eyes up from the board, just barely catching the small smirk on the corner of Mahad’s lips. Mahad was a clever man — a skilled spellcaster, and a childhood friend of the princes. After finishing a lengthy apprenticeship with the top priests in Egypt, Mahad had worked his way through the ranks to become Tefnak’s second in command. Despite his many achievements, perhaps the thing Atem found most impressive about Mahad, was that he was one of the only people in court who could beat him at a game.

Atem clutched harder to the four soapstone sticks in his hand, one side of each painted black, the other left its natural creamy sheen. With a deep breath, he leaned back and extended his hand, letting the sticks fall out of his palm and onto the surface of the table between him and Mahad. It seemed like an eternity before the sticks stopped clattering and settled into their final positions. When they did, Atem’s heart leapt. All four black sides had landed face up — the best throw he could have made, and one that earned him an extra toss.

With a smirk of his own, Atem reached out and moved his last black pawns five spaces, landing on the same square as Mahad’s last white one — only two squares away from the end. Atem swapped them out, sending Mahad’s pawn back to the beginning of the board. “Bad luck, my friend,” Atem said, before picking up the soapstone sticks and tossing them again. Mahad let out a sharp exhale as they landed with two black sides facing up, and Atem broke into a full-on grin as he removed his last pawn from the board.

Mahad reached out and offered his hand to Atem. “Good game, my prince,” he said. “A well-earned victory.”

Atem shook Mahad’s hand. “I had a worthy opponent. And if my score-keeping is correct, you’re still a game ahead of me.”

Mahad leaned back and laughed. “Then we’d best take a break, or I’ll soon lose my claim to that title!”

“Perhaps,” Atem said. He stood and walked toward the window of the study, where the servants had left a cask of wine and two cups for them. “A drink for you, my friend?”

“Please.” Mahad rose as well, coming to stand beside Atem while he poured. 

Atem handed one glass to Mahad and took the other, raising it to his friend. “To winning.”

Mahad smiled and raised his glass in turn, prompting them both to take big swigs. With a pleased sigh, Atem set his cup down on the windowsill and leaned against the cool stones, looking out at the sunny palace courtyard.

“I heard the Pharaoh went with your plan to invite the priests of Memphis to Thebes,” Mahad said, and Atem turned his gaze to his friend. “It is a wise plan. You have a better eye for politics than your brother, it seems.” Mahad looked as though he’d just spoken a curse. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Atem laughed. “Your secret is safe with me, my friend,” he said. “Though I do envy Tefnak his boldness. There’s no denying that a military approach would have sent a stronger message.”

“I disagree,” Mahad said. It was Atem who was surprised now. As a member of the Royal Conclave, Mahad was duty-bound to support his commander. “And so does Isis. I spoke with her last night — she said she received a vision of Metjen kneeling before the Pharaoh.”

Atem felt a knot of pride forming in his throat. It wasn’t often that Isis received such clear visions, let alone one involving a plan Atem himself had set in motion. 

“I think you’re destined to become a great diplomat,” Mahad went on, and Atem felt his ears burn. As the second-born son of the Pharaoh, Atem had always known it would not be his fate to become Pharaoh. He had long ago resigned himself to following the same path as his older brother — to be Guardian of the Millennium Ring and commander of the royal army. But while he enjoyed the art of spellcraft and the sport of dueling, Atem had never been fulfilled by the brutishness of combat in the way Tefnak was. Atem’s joy came from strategy and cunning — in outsmarting his opponent and planning two, three, or even ten stages ahead.

Atem was pulled from his thoughts when Mahad lifted his glass again. “To diplomacy,” he said, and Atem raised his cup to meet his friend’s. After a short _clink_ , Atem took another sip, and somehow the wine tasted sweeter than before.

The drink caught in his throat, however, when came the sudden sound of doors bursting open on their hinges. Coughing to divert the liquid from his lungs, Atem spun to see Tefnak himself striding into the study as if he’d been summoned by their conversation.

“Atem, Mahad — there you are!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been looking all over for you both!”

“What is it?” Mahad asked.

“News from Memphis,” Tef said, sounding breathless as he strode within arm’s reach of them. 

Atem’s heart began to race when he saw Tef was holding a loosely-rolled scroll in one hand. “Well?” he prodded eagerly.

But in the midst of the sudden excitement, Atem had failed to see the grave look on Tef’s face. He suddenly thrust the scroll out to Atem, who stared nervously at the crinkled parchment. “See for yourself.”

Carefully, Atem reached out and unrolled the scroll, reading out loud for Mahad to hear: “‘The nomarch of Ineb-Hedj respectfully declines the Great Pharaoh’s royal invitation. Pridefully, the Memphis Conclave is covetous of its holy mysticisms. If the Great Pharaoh wishes to acquire such knowledge, he is welcome to travel to Memphis to witness it first-hand.’”

Atem’s eyes flew wide, his stunned gaze drifting from the papyrus, to Mahad, then to Tef.

“Pack your things, brothers,” Tefnak said. “We sail for Memphis.”

* * *

Satiah paced between the slivers of moonlight on the floor of her bedchamber, her heart smoldering with heated anticipation. It had been three full days since their response to the royal summons had left Memphis, which meant the scroll would be arriving at the doorstep of the palace at any moment. She tried to imagine the Pharaoh’s shock and disgust upon reading her father’s venomous words. While the image gave her great satisfaction, it also sent a roil of nervousness into her stomach to think what her family’s words might soon set into motion.

The Pharaoh would not let this offense go unremarked. But whether he would take it upon himself to travel to Memphis and face her father head on, Satiah could not be certain. Though Aknamkanon had made a name for himself harvesting the _ka_ of his enemies over the past fifteen years, he was not otherwise prone to hostility or violence. In fact, he was rather popular with the other nomarchs across the region, many of whom were more than happy to offer up the souls of their convicted criminals in lieu of throwing them in prison cells to be fed and watered at their expense.

Satiah stopped at the interior window of her bedchamber, staring through the villa courtyard to the line of suites across the way. She saw a flicker of light coming from the window of her brother’s residence, prompting her thrashing thoughts to pique with new interest. She wondered if Metka, too, was kept awake by the looming threat of what was to come — but knowing her brother, he was likely more thrilled by it than anything.

Satiah chewed her thumbnail for a moment, then peeled herself away from the window, heading down the stairs and out into the courtyard to make for her brother’s residence. In her haste, she neglected to knock at his door, instead pushing it aside without a second thought. As she crossed his threshold, she froze at the sound of light laughter coming from up the stairway to his bedchamber — light, but unfamiliar laughter.

It drew to a sudden stop when Satiah closed the door behind her. Her skin flared with heat, and against her better judgment, she trudged up the stairs, bursting into her brother’s bedchamber at the top.

“Satiah!”

She let out an unbidden groan at the sight before her. Metka was lying in his bed, Bakura curled intimately around him like a lapcat. They quickly untangled themselves from one another, Metka pulling his sheets up to his neck in an almost comical manner.

“Gods, would it kill you to knock?” Metka exclaimed.

Satiah glared at her brother, her lip threatening to quiver in anger. Beside Metka, Bakura was fighting a mirthful smirk. He was wise enough to temper it quickly, however, and he soon cleared his throat and rose to dress himself. Satiah followed him with her eyes as he crossed the bedchamber. He came to stand before her a moment, offering her a subtle nod before he squeezed past her. “My lady,” he muttered, then disappeared down the stairs.

Satiah remained silent until she heard the door to the residence open and close. She opened her mouth to speak, but Metka quickly cut her off.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Don’t what?”

“Just don’t.”

So she didn’t. At least, she didn’t bother unleashing the profanities that had been poised on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she huffed a sigh to settle her nerves. “I don’t like him, Metka,” she said simply. “And you know that.”

Metka bared his teeth, grinding them audibly. “Bold of you to assume I care what you think.”

“Oh, you made that _perfectly_ clear when you treated me like an utter child in front of Father.”

“I wouldn’t treat you like a child if you didn’t act like one!”

 _“I’m_ the one acting like a child?” Satiah spat, trudging over to his bedside. “Here you are, _dancing_ in the _sheets—”_ She tugged on the edge of his covers so they fell down to his waist. “—with a man you’ve barely known for more than a month.” Another sigh gripped her roughly, and she sat down on the edge of his bed. “Did it ever occur to you that he might be using you?”

He scoffed. “Using me for what?”

“To get information,” Satiah said, matter-of-factly. “To get closer to Father.”

Metka rolled his eyes, lifting one arm up over his head and nestling down into his pillow. “Bakura’s not like that,” he said dismissively. “And in any case, he wants to see the Pharaoh dead as much as we do.”

Satiah gasped. “Metka!” she hissed. “What you say is treason!”

He blurted a single, derisive laugh. “I think we’re _far_ beyond that, Sati.”

At this, Satiah’s earlier fears returned to the surface. For three days, she’d been telling herself her family had done the right thing — that it had been their honor-bound _duty_ to stand up to the Pharaoh and his sinister practices. But now she saw clear as day: it was neither virtue nor obligation which had driven her father and brother to such bold intentions — it was bloodlust.

Metka clicked his tongue. “Oh, Sati,” he sang, and Satiah’s skin was already bristling again at his chiding tone. “Blessings to Iset. You actually thought this conflict might end peacefully?”

Satiah stood, staring down at her brother with enough venom to wipe the smug grin from his face. “End this silly affair,” she threatened, “or I’ll tell Father.”

She spun sharply, making for the stairs.

“Go on then!” Metka spouted after her. “Tell him! See if I care!”

But Satiah knew he only said it because he was perfectly confident she wouldn’t.


	3. Sanctity

Atem awoke at dawn on the third and final day of their journey to Memphis. The sun had forced its way between the slats of his cabin, creating a pillar of light that teetered back and forth across his face with each roll of the ship’s hull through the swift currents of the Nile. Between the heaving of the ship and unsettling dreams, he had barely slept a wink. Grudgingly, he rose and dressed himself before exiting the cabin and climbing the stairs to the top deck. There, he flinched and shielded his eyes from the blinding sun — it seemed only fitting that Nefertem, one of the patron deities of Memphis and god of the rising sun, would greet their arrival with such disdain.

Once his vision had adjusted to Nefertem’s unforgiving gaze, Atem was able to make out what looked like the silhouette of his father standing toward the front of the ship. As he approached, however, he realized it was in fact Aknadin, one of his father’s most trusted priests and Guardian of the Millennium Eye. Atem froze as Aknadin turned toward him; the sun’s harsh rays seemed pleasant compared to the golden glare of the Eye. Aknadin may have been close with his father, but Atem had always felt a bit uneasy around the stoic priest. The lines of his face seemed carved with grim foreboding, and his voice carried with it an eerie undertone, as if a tortured spirit were speaking through him.

“Good morning, Prince Atem,” Aknadin said. “I hope you slept well.”

Atem braced himself and forced a smile. “I did,” he lied. “Thank you.”

“Good. The Pharaoh will need you well-rested if you are to support him during today’s parley.”

The words brought a roil of nervousness into the pit of Atem’s stomach. Soon, he would be standing on the unfriendly soil of Memphis, ready to face down the rebel Metjen and his followers. His father had assured him repeatedly that no aggression was expected from either side during the parley, but Atem had still tossed and turned all night in anxious anticipation.

Atem’s attention was soon drawn away from Aknadin and his piercing Eye, to a flash of light far on the horizon. He turned, just barely catching sight of a gold-tipped, triangular shape hovering over the craggy ridge above Memphis.

Aknadin, too, turned his attention to it. “The Great Pyramid of Giza,” he said softly. “The final resting place of the noble Pharaoh Khufu. Some say it is protected by the  _ ka _ of Ra himself.” Atem looked up at Aknadin, whose one human eye had grown wide in reverence. “Legend says there exists a chamber below the Pharaoh’s resting place, where man can face the god-creator and harness his power by defeating him in a duel.”

A soft laugh caused both Atem and Aknadin to turn around; Aknamkanon was standing behind them looking amused. “Naturally, hundreds of proud warriors and sly plunderers have tried to fulfil this prophecy,” the Pharaoh said. “But there exists no such chamber within the Pyramid. Only Khufu’s lonely sarcophagus.”

A smile finally came to Atem’s face upon laying eyes on his father. The Pharaoh looked calm and collected, despite the haze of anxiety hanging over the day.

“Besides,” Aknamkanon went on, “the Giza Plateau is heavily guarded by the Memphis Conclave, and somehow I don’t see them letting us make a stopover there before our parley.”

Atem smiled wider. It comforted him to know his father could still be so relaxed in the face of such adversity.

“Good morning, your highness,” Aknadin said with a short bow.

Aknamkanon nodded to his High Priest, then turned to Atem. “As usual, you’re up before your brother, Atem. Aknadin, could you please go and rouse Tefnak? I wish to speak with both of my sons before we arrive in Memphis.”

Aknadin bowed again and excused himself. The Pharaoh then took a step forward and laid a hand on Atem’s shoulder, turning him toward the front of the ship. “You look tired, my son. Did sleep not come to you?”

“The Nile was restless last night,” Atem replied.

“Indeed,” his father confirmed. “And so, I think, were your thoughts.” He reached out and ruffled Atem’s hair.

Atem smiled, though a flush came to his cheeks all the same. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said, looking down at the Millennium Pendant hanging around the Pharaoh’s neck. “Courage does not come as easily to me as it does to you and Tefnak.”

Aknamkanon stopped walking. He placed both hands on Atem’s shoulders, summoning his son’s face back up to him. “It takes more courage to seek peace than it does to stir conflict,” his father said in a quiet voice. “For what king would be called brave if he used power only to oppress his subjects, rather than to lift them up?”

For the first time since he awoke, Atem felt his anxious thoughts start to dissipate; the quiet moment, however, was soon interrupted by the loud footsteps approaching. Tefnak suddenly surged past them, running up to the bow of the ship.

“Father — brother!” Tef said loudly, holding his arms open to the sun. “Memphis approaches!”

Aknamkanon straightened up and turned to his other son. “How astute you are, Tefnak,” the Pharaoh said, chuckling. “I trust you slept well.”

Tef turned back around and jumped down off the bow. “Like Horus on the eve of battle!” he said.

Aknamkanon looked suddenly grave. “Don’t forget, Tefnak: we enter Memphis as guests of the nomarch, and nothing more.”

Tef scoffed. “You speak as though he is the king, and we the subjects,” he said. “Do you remember what Isis foretold? The rebel will be on his knees before the sun reaches its peak.”

“That may be so, but I intend to exhaust all peaceful options to reaffirm Metjen’s fealty before resorting to violence. Understood?”

Tef rolled his eyes before nodding.

“Good,” the Pharaoh said. “I have faith that there is still good in Metjen, despite his spirited cheek.”

Aknamkanon turned at the sound of more footsteps approaching. A kingsguard soldier trotted up and bowed. “My king, we are preparing to dock.”

“Very well,” the Pharaoh replied. “Come, my sons. Let us greet our subjects of this nome with good cheer.”

Aknamkanon shepherded both of his sons up to the bow as the ship navigated its way through the many inlets and canals on the outskirts of Memphis. It didn’t take long for the citizens there to realize their king was aboard — crowds soon began to gather at the banks of the Nile to see the Pharaoh and his sons. Many were joyous, cheering and throwing offerings into the river. But not all shared in the jubilation — Atem could make out a handful of curses and rude gestures among those in attendance. Still, his father greeted each and every citizen with grace, and so Atem did the same, waving and smiling and until finally the ship came to rest at a stone wharf just outside the city proper.

His father and brother dismounted the bow, waiting at the side of the ship for the disembarking platform to be set up. Atem stayed to survey the vast city of Memphis, spread out as far as the eye could see. Above the sea of mudbrick houses and huts rose great temples and monuments, many of them still sporting the white limestone sheen of their youth despite the centuries that had passed since their erection. Atem’s eyes were drawn to a large temple squared perfectly to the wharf where they were docked, its pylons flying flags with the lioness head of Sekhmet woven onto them. It took him a moment to notice a small mass of people gathered at its front gates. When he squinted, he could see that some of the individuals were also holding flags sporting the image of the war goddess. A welcoming party, Atem thought. His stomach turned.

When the disembarking platform was ready, a small battalion of kingsguard soldiers entered the city to secure a safe path for the king up to the temple. Atem finally jumped down off the bow and joined the rest of the members of the royal court: Aknamkanon and Tefnak, as well as Aknadin, who had since been joined by both Mahad and Isis.

Isis stepped forward to greet Atem with a serene smile. “Good morning, my prince,” she said, her whimsical voice helping to preserve what little optimism he had left. “Memphis welcomes you back to her embrace with open arms.”

Atem nodded. “I still remember the last time I came here. You were with me, if I recall.”

Isis’s smile grew wider. “I didn’t think you remembered,” she said. “That was before your father bestowed upon me the honor of the Millennium Necklace. I was just your mother’s handmaiden at the time.”

Atem’s heart grew heavy at the mention of his mother. She had died not long after their return from Memphis — a fever had struck her and took her away in less than a week. “I remember. We all prayed together at the temple of Hathor.”

“I still recall what I prayed for. Although it has yet to come true.”

Atem looked hard into Isis’s eyes, which shone in the light of the rising sun. “Isis, may I ask you something? About the Millennium Necklace?”

“Anything, my prince.”

“Is it possible for the Necklace to be … wrong?”

Isis hummed with interest. “There is no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ with the Millennium Necklace,” she said. “There is only ‘truth’ and ‘untruth.’ The Necklace has the power to show us either one — it is my job to interpret them both.”

Atem stared at her, not quite comprehending her words.

“Think of the future like a painting,” she went on. “Truth is like light — illuminating the image with color and hue. Untruth is like darkness — casting shadows and forming shapes. You cannot have light without dark, just as you cannot have truth without untruth. So you see, the Necklace shows me both — and I seek to uncover the image they create.”

Atem lowered his head, letting her words sink in.

“But if you are asking about my vision of the nomarch,” Isis said, “you needn’t worry, my prince. The image I saw was as clear as day.”

Atem turned his eyes back up, his heart lifting along with them. Of all his father’s advisors, Isis was the one he trusted most of all. 

“Atem.” His father’s voice floated in from nearby. “We must depart now.”

“Coming, Father.” Atem smiled and nodded to Isis before trotting off to meet his father and brother.

They disembarked together, and when they reached solid ground they were quickly surrounded by a phalanx of royal guards, who escorted them up the hill toward the temple. Many soldiers had already been deployed to the various alleyways and cross streets to stop foot traffic ahead of the king. Normally the Pharaoh would have been carried by a covered palanquin, but Aknamkanon preferred to travel by foot or horse when meeting with local leaders, so as to position both parties on equal footing.

It was a short walk from the wharf to the foot of the temple, and Atem felt as though his heart might burst with anticipation by the time the royal escort finally stopped. Even when they did, Atem couldn’t see anything over the broad shields of the soldiers. He cursed his short stature, having to peer through the cracks to get a glimpse at what lay ahead.

Atem jumped when the foremost soldier suddenly shouted. “May I present his royal highness, the Great Pharaoh Aknamkanon, and his trusted members of the court!”

On perfect cue, the phalanx parted into two equal lines, finally revealing to Atem the nomarch’s welcoming party.

It was easy to spot the nomarch himself: Metjen stood at the front of the pack, a tall man of forty or so, with a gray-streaked beard and shoulder-length hair, half of which was swept back into a ponytail. Upon his head was a simple golden circlet, a sign of the nomarch’s high status. His arms were crossed in front of him, the length of his long, scarlet cloak clutched in one hand, concealing most of his body. After studying Metjen for a moment, Atem looked around at the rest of the nomarch’s followers.

There were perhaps a dozen priests in attendance, many of whom were dressed similarly in white tunics with red  _ shendyt  _ coming to rest above their knees. Three of the individuals stood out from the rest, however: another brooding man stood beside Metjen — tall, but lithe, dressed in full leather armor and sporting a top knot. He looked like a younger reflection of the nomarch, and Atem supposed it must be his son. On the other side of Metjen was a young woman. She, too, had the same piercing gaze as Metjen, although her eyes were a warmer, earthen tone. She had dark, wavy hair that faded to the color of ash at the ends, which brushed her collarbone, and blunt bangs that framed her serious face. She wore a striking white  _ kalasiris _ , with a red sash hanging from her waist. This must be Metjen’s daughter, Atem thought.

The last of the unique individuals was standing behind the nomarch and his children, and if Atem hadn’t been studying them so closely, he might have missed him: a man with hair as white as a full moon and eyes glinting like two scarab beetles. The anxious feeling returned to the pit of his stomach as Atem followed the man’s gaze to where it rested — directly on Tefnak’s Millennium Ring.

Atem’s concentration was interrupted when a booming voice came from ahead. “King of Thebes!” Metjen exclaimed. “Welcome to Memphis!”

Atem watched as his father took several steps forward. The nomarch gave Aknamkanon a small nod of respect — a far cry from the full kneeling bow that was expected of him when greeting his Pharaoh.

“Thank you, Metjen,” Aknamkanon responded. “It is an honor to be in your holy city once again.” The king swept his arm out behind him. “Allow me to introduce the members of my court — my sons, Tefnak and Atem, trusted member of the Royal Conclave, Mahad, and my High Priests, Aknadin and Isis.”

Metjen gave a single nod to each of them. “Welcome, members of the court. May I present to you my family — my son, Metka, and my daughter, Satiah.”

“Your children have grown since last I visited,” Aknamkanon said.

Metjen turned his chin up. “As have yours.”

An awkward pause followed, and Aknamkanon smiled. “Perhaps your son and daughter could show us the way into the temple of Sekhmet, so that we may speak in private.”

“If you have words for us, you may speak them for all the city to hear.”

All eyes suddenly snapped to Metka. Out of the corner of his eye, Atem saw Tefnak curl his hand into a fist, but his father maintained a calm smile.

“Metka,” the Pharaoh said. “Your name befits you. Your  _ ka _ is quite bold.”

Tef scoffed. “His  _ ka _ may be bold … but his manners are lacking.”

Metka took only a single step before he was met with a dozen spears pointed at him. He was stopped by his father’s outstretched hand, and the nomarch shot his son a glare before turning his eyes back to the king.

“You say you want words, Pharaoh, and yet you point your weapons at my son as if he is a common criminal.”

Aknamkanon reached out and placed his hand on one of the soldier’s spears, lowering it. The rest of the phalanx followed suit. “My apologies, nomarch. Neither my soldiers nor my viziers mean any offense. We came here to exchange words of peace, not strife.”

“It is not your words that offend us, my king.” Eyes were turned to Satiah now, whose commanding voice betrayed her small frame. Her gaze was very clearly locked on the Millennium Pendant hanging around the Pharaoh’s neck. 

Aknamkanon lowered his eyes to the Pendant, then raised them back up to Satiah. “I see,” he said. “There were many who feared the power of the Millennium Items when they were first forged in my name. And rightfully so — they afforded us abilities that man could only dream of until that point.” Aknamkanon cradled the Pendant in his hand. “But as they brought the destruction of Egypt’s enemies, so have they secured peace in our lands for long over a decade. Even now, my priests use them to fortify our might across the region, so that never again will Egypt fall victim to the threat of outsiders.”

“You speak as if it was you alone who faced such adversity,” Metjen shot back. “While you waited seven days for the enemies of Egypt to besiege Thebes, my kin fought and died defending Memphis from their attacks. We repelled the invaders using the strength of our  _ ka _ alone, with no aid from you or your Items.”

“Their sacrifice will never be forgotten,” Aknamkanon said, his voice grave. “Egypt will forever sing the song of their triumph.”

“Our people do not want your songs,” Satiah said. “We seek only to preserve the sanctity of our magic — for we believe magic must be cultivated in the inner soul, not stolen from the  _ ka  _ of others.”

Atem flinched as Aknadin suddenly surged forward. “You dare accuse your king of practicing blood magic?!” he cried.

Metjen’s son pointed his finger at Aknadin. “What would you call it, when the souls of petty thieves are being ripped out and sealed in stone for all eternity?!”

_ “Enough!” _

The Pharaoh’s voice echoed across the courtyard of the temple. Atem could feel the blood draining from his face with each passing moment.

“It is clear that no amount of words will secure the peace I seek,” Aknamkanon said. “I do not need for the nomarch to understand my position, but as Pharaoh I must demand his fealty, or he shall be charged with treason against his people.”

Metjen looked surprisingly calm at being labeled a traitor. Slowly, he unfurled his arms, leveling his gaze at his accuser. “Fine. If words will not suffice, then let us settle this with action.” Metjen raised his arm, pointing one finger at the Pharaoh. “There is no other choice: we must duel.”


	4. Diaha

The sun beat down mercilessly upon the witnesses of the upcoming duel, bringing sweat to their brows and casting their opposition in sharp relief. On one side of the temple courtyard stood the priests of Memphis, and on the other, the royal envoy. In the center of this makeshift arena, Metjen and Aknamkanon stood face-to-face, laying out the terms of the duel. Behind them, Atem had to strain his ears to pick up the contents of their conversation. 

“This will be a clean duel,” the Pharaoh decreed. “Under no circumstances will the duelists themselves be targeted.”

“Fine,” Metjen agreed. “But you must promise one thing in return, Pharaoh. Neither you nor any of your fellow duelists may use the power of your Millennium Items. We duel only with the might of our own  _ ka. _ ”

Atem watched as a bead of sweat streaked down the side of his father’s face. A moment passed, then the Pharaoh nodded. “Name your duelists.”

Metjen looked back at his followers. “I call on my children to support me — Satiah and Metka, come forth!” 

The nomarch’s children exchanged looks, then came to stand beside their father. A moment later, however, they were tailed by the white-haired priest Atem had seen earlier. He jogged forward and kneeled before Metjen.

“Noble nomarch,” he said. “Please, let me join you and your children in this battle. I promise to defend you against your accusers.”

Metjen smiled. “You are brave, young Bakura,” he said. “I would gladly have you by my side, if the Pharaoh will allow it.”

Metjen looked back at Aknamkanon, who inspected Bakura briefly before nodding. As Bakura stood, a wicked smirk came to his face; the sight of it caused Atem to shudder where he stood. The Pharaoh then turned to where his envoy stood gathered behind him. “I name Mahad, Tefnak — and Atem to join me in battle.”

Atem felt a bolt of fear run from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. His was the last name he would have expected to come from his father’s mouth, especially when the powerful Sacred Guardians, Aknadin and Isis, were standing right beside him.

“Very well,” Metjen said. “Let us prepare.”

The nomarch returned to his Conclave of priests, and the Pharaoh did the same. Atem searched for his father’s eyes, but the king had lowered them as he removed his Millennium Pendant. When he reached his envoy, he handed the Pendant to Isis, who clutched it tight, giving her king a solemn stare. Aknamkanon then placed his hands on Mahad’s and Tefnak’s shoulders - he didn’t speak, but they understood him just the same. Both men gave nods of silent agreement before stepping forward to prepare for the duel. It was only then that the Pharaoh turned to Atem. He must have seen the fear in his son’s eyes, for he bent to one knee and clutched Atem’s shoulders.

“Remember what I told you, my son,” his father whispered. “You have more courage than you know. I have faith in your abilities, and there is no one I would rather have at my side to help me settle this score.”

Atem inhaled deeply to steady his ragged breaths, then gave his father one gallant nod. Satisfied with the silent exchange, Aknamkanon squeezed Atem’s shoulders, then stood and moved out to where Tefnak and Mahad were waiting. Tefnak took his place at the far right of the courtyard; Aknamkanon stood beside him on his left, followed by Atem, with Mahad at the far left side of the arena. Across the way, their positions were mirrored by the nomarch and his family: Metka stood opposite Tef, flanked by Metjen, then Satiah, with Bakura in the leftmost position.

A silence fell over the audience, as if the gods themselves had turned their ears to await the coming battle. Out of the corner of his eye, Atem saw his father raise his hand, then, his voice rang out: “ _ DIAHA! _ ”

Eight streams of light cascaded into the temple courtyard as magic surrounded the duelists.

“I call upon the Servant of Ptah!” Metjen announced. Before him materialized a pale, humanoid figure with its arms crossed over its chest, standing in what looked like the bottom half of a golden sarcophagus. It took Atem only a moment to realize the figure was not pale, but rather it was wrapped in linen — mummified, with only its gaping mouth exposed.

“Come forth, Shieldmaiden of Sekhmet!” Atem’s eyes were drawn to Satiah now, who summoned a surprisingly fearsome creature — a female warrior wearing the head and pelt of a lioness, crouched behind a broad shield, formed to resemble a sun disk with two moon disks above and below it. The Shieldmaiden brandished a long spear in her other hand.

“Defender of Nefertem, heed my call!” Metka’s voice cried out, summoning forth a tall, slender humanoid with green-blue skin and piercing eyes as clear as the waters of the Nile. He held clutched in one hand an enormous bow made of twisted roots and vines. Upon his back was a quiverfull of arrows tufted with feathers in a rainbow of colors. The Defender wore leather armor similar to his master.

“Diabound, show yourself!” Last to summon for the rebels was the mysterious Bakura, whose  _ ka _ was even more fearsome than its counterparts. Diabound was a pale, towering creature, with wings as white as an ibis and four times as large, sprouting from his back and his hips. His humanoid head was set with a crown of horns and a pair of black, glinting eyes, just like its master. But more terrifying than its top half was what lay below — from the bottom of the creature’s torso sprouted a coiled, rearing snake, its fangs bared and pink tongue flicking in hunger.

Eager to meet his opponents, Tefnak surged forward and called upon his  _ ka.  _ “Go, Tomb Guardian!” A creature as tall as the walls of the temple appeared before Tef — a formidable warrior with the head of a ram and dressed in full gilded battle armor. The Guardian stood on back-bent legs with cloven hooves and carried a warhammer almost the length of his body. It snorted menacingly while readying the hammer in its hulking hands.

“Wise Sphinx, reveal yourself!” King Aknamkanon announced the arrival of his powerful  _ ka _ — a creature with the body of a lion and the head of a man, though its true face was hidden behind a golden pharaoh’s mask. The Sphinx sat proudly with its flicking tail curled around its front paws, which though covered in fur, appeared to have somewhat human-like fingers.

Beside Atem, Mahad stepped forward. “Magician of Illusion, come forth!” From the shadows, Mahad’s  _ ka _ revealed itself — a dark, ethereal spellcaster cloaked in violet armor and holding a pearlescent staff. It touched down lightly to the arena, then crossed its arms almost leisurely in anticipation of the action.

Taking his cue from his friend and mentor, Atem extended his hand, calling forth his own  _ ka  _ at last. “Go, Magician’s Apprentice!” Robes of rich purple unfurled themselves, revealing a young man not unlike Atem in build and stature. He wore a collar guard and pauldrons similar to Mahad’s Magician, but carried a spellbook instead of a staff.

With the last of the creatures summoned, an anxious stillness settled over the battlefield as each duelist sized up the others’  _ ka _ . Atem blinked sweat from his eyes and swept his gaze across the line of monsters before him. It was easy to see whose was the biggest threat — Diabound towered over his companions, its snakelike tail coiled and ready to strike. Atem would bet anything that the rebels would want to use its might early and strike first. Would he be ready if Diabound chose to target his Apprentice?

Thankfully, Atem didn’t have to wonder for long, for it was not the rebels who struck first, but Tef, who shouted: “Enough waiting! Tomb Guardian, strike their leader!”

Atem snapped his eyes to his right, just barely catching the flash of gold as the Guardian launched itself into the air and came down hard on Metjen’s creature. There was a sound like metal on metal, and both of them were swallowed in a whirlwind of sand for a moment. When it cleared, Tefnak cried out in shock: instead of standing triumphant over his foe, the Guardian was face-to-face with Satiah’s Shieldmaiden. Her warrior had forced her shield up to absorb the Guardian’s blow as if it weighed no more than a feather. Atem thought he saw the creature smirk before she drew her free arm back and drove her spear into the Guardian’s side. It cried out in pain before falling back a few paces to a safe distance.

Satiah laughed. “Foolish mistake,” she said. “My Shieldmaiden can easily block such predictable and brutish attacks.”

“And now, you’ve given us the perfect opening!” Metka cried. “Defender of Nefertem, loose your arrow!”

Atem braced himself as Metka’s blue-skinned creature pulled a green-tufted arrow from his quiver, nocking it and loosing it in one smooth motion. Already injured, Tef’s Guardian couldn’t react in time — the arrow landed squarely in the open wound Satiah’s Shieldmaiden had left.

The Guardian grunted in pain, but looked mostly unfazed. He lifted one hulking hand and ripped the arrow out before throwing it to the ground. “You’ll have to do better than that,” Tef said. “Your Shieldmaiden may be able to block physical attacks, but let’s see her stop this!” Tef thrust his hand at his Guardian, who lifted his hammer and brought it down hard on the ground in front of him. Bolts of lightning erupted from the spot where the hammer struck the earth, traveling in jagged lines all the way across the battlefield. Miraculously, Metka’s Defender managed to leap out of the way at the last moment, sending the bolts harmlessly into the wall of the courtyard.

It was Metka who laughed now, as Tef’s Guardian suddenly doubled over, hanging its head and groaning in pain. “Poison,” Metka explained. “My Defender may lack brute strength, but it will still send your  _ ka _ to the afterlife all the same.”

Tef clenched his fists in frustration. It was just then that an idea struck Atem.

“Don’t worry, brother!” Atem cried. “Magician’s Apprentice, use your healing magic on the Tomb Guardian!”

The Apprentice nodded and leapt across the battlefield to where the Guardian lay hunkered and writhing. The sorcerer muttered an ancient spell and held out his hand, drawing the poison from the Guardian into a ball of black light.

“No!” Metka exclaimed. 

“And that’s not all,” Atem went on. “Apprentice, transfer that power to Mahad’s Magician of Illusion!”

The Apprentice turned and flicked his hand, sending the dark energy into the chest of Mahad’s creature, who first doubled over, then erected himself with a vigorous cry.

Mahad grinned at Atem. “Thank you, my prince,” he said. “Now, Magician of Illusion! Attack… Diabound!”

The order took the rebels by surprise as the Magician sent his dark magic streaking across the field. Bakura did not have time to order his creature to dodge — the spell hit Diabound dead-on, lighting up the battlefield with clouds of black and violet.

When the smoke cleared, Atem felt his stomach turn: Diabound still stood, looking almost unharmed. The creature lifted one of his hands and wiped a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth and smiled.

“Pathetic,” Bakura whispered. “Diabound, teach that silly jester a lesson!”

Diabound raised its arms, its snake-head raising with it, and sent out a powerful, twisting shockwave, which came to strike the Magician with full force. Mahad himself even had to take cover as the blast sliced through the air like an axe.

Atem grunted as the Magician fell to the ground, gravely injured. “Apprentice, heal your ally!”

“Not so fast!” It was Metjen who finally spoke, gesturing for his mummified creature to do his bidding. “Servant, show those pitiful sorcerers what the magic of the gods looks like!”

While Atem’s Apprentice muttered his healing spell, the Servant of Ptah swept its arms in a wide circle, causing the very ground beneath its feet to rumble and crack. Suddenly, two huge boulders were pulled up from the earth, floating in front of the Servant as if suspended by invisible kites. Atem could only watch in horror as Metjen’s creature flicked its withered hands forward and sent the boulders flying across the battlefield at the defenseless Apprentice.

Suddenly, an ear-piercing sound filled the arena, causing all the duelists to flinch in pain. When Atem opened his eyes, he looked over to see that his father’s creature, the Wise Sphinx, had reached up and removed its pharaoh’s mask. Beneath it was a void of swirling, spiraling shapes and lights, as if all the stars of the heavens lay within the creature’s face. It was so mesmerizing that Atem almost forgot about the boulders hurling at his  _ ka _ , and he had to dive out of the way to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

Grunting and rolling onto his back, Atem looked up, bracing himself for the carnage, only to gasp in shock — Satiah’s Shieldmaiden had somehow been pulled from her side of the field and now stood guard over the Apprentice and Mahad’s Magician, having successfully blocked the boulders with her impervious shield. When Atem looked closer, he saw the Maiden, too, had stars in her eyes — and Atem suddenly remembered the special ability of his father’s  _ ka. _

“Hypnosis,” Aknamkanon said. “Even the strongest creatures can easily fall victim to it.”

Metjen gritted his teeth. Suddenly his son surged forward, pointing wildly. “How dare you steal my sister’s  _ ka!” _ he cried. “Defender, draw your bow!”

Metka’s creature obeyed, pulling a yellow-tufted arrow from his quiver this time. He nocked it and drew it back, but instead of aiming it at his opponents, the Defender loosed it into high the sky. All eyes were drawn to it as it arced upward, then suddenly exploded into a flash of pure white, blinding everyone on the royals’ side of the field.

Atem covered his eyes, reeling in pain and shock. Though he couldn’t see, he heard as plain as day what was to happen next. “Diabound, now!”

Through blurred vision, Atem saw another shockwave streak across the field and strike his father’s  _ ka,  _ sending it tumbling backward. Aknamkanon fell to one knee as his creature writhed in pain beside him from the full-force attack.

“Father!” Tef cried, and he rushed to his father’s aid, but Aknamkanon held out his hand and struggled to his feet. Tef turned, and Atem had never seen such violence in his eyes. He swept his arm out toward his monster, screaming. “You’ll pay for that, traitor!”

The Tomb Guardian responded instantly to his master’s command, raising his warhammer high above his head. Again, he struck the earth with the force of a god’s hand. The blast that followed streaked across the ground faster than a swooping falcon, colliding with Bakura’s Diabound in a flash of green light. Atem squinted, and he thought his eyes were cheating him when the lightning was suddenly redirected and sent flying in violent arcs behind the feral creature, where the line of opposing spellcasters stood. Metjen dived to avoid it, taking Satiah with him. There was a sound like a war drum being struck, then silence.

When the smoke cleared, the first thing Atem saw was Diabound, hovering braced but unharmed above the battlefield. For just a brief moment, Atem thought he saw an ethereal shield of what looked like ghosts floating before the creature. But a blood-curdling scream drew his eyes away, down to where Satiah was lying on the ground, still clutched by her father. Satiah screamed again, pointing wildly over her father’s shoulder and scrambling to free herself from his grasp.

Atem followed her finger, and his heart fell into his stomach at the sight of Metka’s mangled body lying in a crater of burnt sand. Above it, the Defender of Nefertem stood rigid and still, its earthly body dissolving into the air, until finally, it disappeared completely.

With his son’s  _ ka  _ gone, Metjen let slip a sound of utter agony, as if someone had just driven a spear through his heart. He released Satiah and crawled pitifully toward his son’s body. Carefully, as if handling a newborn, he rolled Metka over and pulled him into his lap, brushing his son’s hair from his lifeless eyes.

“No,” Metka moaned, as Satiah came to join him. “No, no,  _ no _ … Not my son… Not my  _ son!” _

Atem felt his throat start to tie itself in a knot, and instinctively, his eyes traveled to his own father. For just a moment, Atem glimpsed the same sorrow that wracked Metjen misting in the Pharaoh’s eyes. But he blinked, and it was gone — replaced with resolute conviction.

Aknamkanon suddenly spun, walking to where Isis stood, dumbfounded, a few paces away. She jolted as he took the Millennium Pendant from her grasp. He then turned back to the battlefield and marched out into it, holding the Pendant high above his head. A flash of light blinded Atem temporarily, and when he opened his eyes again, all the monsters had gone, leaving nothing but the quiet stillness of sorrow drenching the hot sands.

The Pharaoh walked toward the grieving family, casting his shadow over them. Slowly, Metjen raised his gaze to his king, and Atem could clearly see the shine of tears in his eyes. What felt like an eternity passed as the fathers looked at one another, until finally, Metjen lifted his son and transferred him to the arms of his daughter. He then stood, coming within arm’s reach of his king. For a moment, Atem thought they might strike each other down. But at last, Metjen lowered his head and fell to his knees before the Pharaoh. Sobs wracked his body as he reached up and removed the gold circlet from his head, casting it down at his king’s feet.

Aknamkanon was silent for a long time, the Millennium Pendant swinging by his side. “I accept your surrender,” he said, looking from the nomarch to the rest of his followers, now gathered around Metjen’s fallen son. It was just then that Atem noticed the suspicious absence of Bakura. He must have fled when his creature disappeared, fearing the retribution about to be levied against his nomarch. “Never again will there be conflict between the crown and Ineb-Hedj,” Aknamkanon went on. “As punishment for your treason, you will be stripped of your title, and you and your surviving kin will be henceforth forbidden to cast magic in the kingdom of Egypt.”

Metjen looked up, his face wet with tears. “No!” he cried, bringing his hands together in a sign of prayer in front of him. “Please! Punish me, my king, but do not sentence my daughter to the same fate. She is innocent of these crimes — magic is her life—!”

“To ensure a  _ lasting _ peace between Thebes and Memphis,” Aknamkanon interjected, “and to make amends for the injury done to your family by this senseless act of violence … your daughter will be married to my youngest son, Atem.”

At first, Atem didn’t even register his father’s words, his focus now turned to Satiah, whose body had been shuddering wildly since being told she could never cast magic again. It wasn’t until Satiah’s shoulders settled and her seething gaze drifted to Atem that he began to process the king’s commandment.

“Their children will be untainted by your treason, and as such, their use of magic will not be restricted. When your new heir comes of age, they will be allowed to replace you as nomarch of Ineb-Hedj, preserving your family’s noble heritage. Until that time, my High Priest Aknadin will preside as acting nomarch over these lands. He alone will have authority over those who are anointed to priesthood.”

Atem could feel his heart beating in his throat as he looked over to where Aknadin stood, arms crossed. He looked almost pleased by the news.

“Come here, child,” the Pharaoh commanded, pointing at Satiah. Atem could feel the fire in her eyes as she stared at her king. Carefully, she lowered her brother’s broken body out of her lap and stood, walking forward and sinking to her knees beside her father. Aknamkanon then raised his hand, lifting the Pendant to hang above their heads. Though Satiah’s face was still wet, no tears came to her eyes as she raised them to look at the glinting gold pyramid.

In a booming voice, Aknamkanon spoke a few sacred words, and the Pendant began to shine with its own light. A gentle rumble shook the courtyard, and Atem felt his stomach lurch before a pillar of light suddenly cascaded down from the sky and shined itself on Satiah and Metjen. Father and daughter clasped their hands together and flinched in pain as their  _ ka _ were drawn agonizingly out from the tops of their heads. The Shieldmaiden and the Servant rose up into the pillar of spectral light, almost dissolving into nothingness before being sucked into the Eye of Wadjet carved onto the Millennium Pendant. A moment later, the pillar of light dissipated, and the traitors doubled over, heaving — their  _ ka _ forever gone from the world of the living.


	5. Agreeable

Even back in his own bed in the royal palace at Thebes, Atem had trouble sleeping. His mind raced with thoughts of pale snakes, wheeling stars, and weeping women. When it was quiet, as it was now, his ears would ring with a sound like Satiah’s fearful scream upon seeing the broken body of her brother.

Satiah… The daughter of his father’s enemy. A once-skilled warrior who’d been stripped of her _ka_. Now the sole heir to the nomarchy of Ineb-Hedj. And the woman who would soon be his wife. It seemed odd to even say such a thing, when just four days prior, they had been pitted against one another in a fierce and heated battle. More than her sorrow, Atem recalled the look of loathing she had set on him when his father had decreed her forced betrothal. Atem knew next to nothing about the woman, and yet soon he would be expected to share a life with her. Already, the royal servants and priests were planning for the wedding festivities, though Satiah and her father would not arrive for another week or more. Thankfully, the Pharaoh had given them a fortnight to embalm and entomb Metka, and to grieve their fallen kin properly.

Atem stared at the ceiling of his bedchamber, his thoughts drifting to the king. In his heart of hearts, he was angry with his father for setting him on such an uncertain path so abruptly — but Atem had never questioned his father’s judgement before. Like Atem, the king was a clever strategist, always thinking ten steps ahead, and he trusted that his father’s plan would be the most beneficial for all parties. Still, knowing the wisdom behind it did little to ease Atem’s distaste for being used as a pawn in it.

After rolling from side to side for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, Atem finally threw back his covers and stood with a huff. He pulled on a robe, then crept quietly out into the hall beyond.

Torchlight danced upon the cool, shaped stones as he walked deeper into the royal living quarters. He passed his brother’s room, from which he could hear Tef’s heavy snores and Nebetah & Meriti’s whispered sighs. He smiled to himself at the sounds before continuing on, until the hall came to an end at two heavy wooden doors. Looking down, he saw light flickering from the crack between the floor and the door, telling him his father may still be awake. With a deep breath, he pulled on one of the doors’ heavy wooden rings, cracking it open far enough for him to peer in.

His father was indeed awake, sitting at a table in the middle of the room reading papyri by candlelight. At the sound of the door opening, the king looked up; his startled expression melted into something more relieved when he set his eyes on Atem.

“Can’t sleep?” his father said.

Atem, standing half in and half out of the room, gave a meek shake of his head.

“Come in, my son.”

After an uncertain pause, Atem obeyed, closing the door behind him and coming to sit in the seat across from his father. The king scribbled a few notes on the parchment in front of him before setting his brush down and looking up.

“Tell me — what keeps you up this night?” his father asked.

Atem was quiet for a moment, his eyes and thoughts distracted by the way the breeze from the window made the candlelight flicker. “I guess,” he started quietly, then louder, “I guess I just don’t really understand _why_.”

His father looked expectantly at him, and Atem knew it was because he had phrased his concerns so poorly. But what else _could_ he say? Why should he be expected to forsake the rest of his youth over a blood feud? Why did his father see fit to punish Satiah so harshly for her father’s crimes? And why — _why_ didn’t he get a say in all this?

But in the end, these thoughts never came to his lips. “Why her?” he pressed. “Why me?”

A smile flickered across his father’s face at this, and he took a deep breath. “Did you know that your mother and I had never even met before our wedding night?” he said. Atem raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It’s true. You see, at the time Upper and Lower Egypt weren’t as united they are today. Lower Egypt, with its access to the lush Nile delta, was better positioned for farming and raising livestock, but they were also less protected from the threat of invaders. Lucky for them, Upper Egypt was known to produce some of the strongest spellcasters in the land. So, my father wisely brokered an agreement with a high-ranking lord of Lower Egypt, asking for his daughter’s hand in marriage in exchange for furthering trade and cooperation between the two regions.”

Atem pondered his father’s words. He knew his mother had come from Lower Egypt, but never the circumstances surrounding her union to the royal family.

“My father was so determined for the marriage to take place that he didn’t even tell me of the arrangement until a week beforehand.” The king chuckled, and Atem laughed along. “But despite all that, your mother and I built a strong marriage. I grew to love her dearly, and she helped me overcome my many shortcomings, for the sake of you and your brother.” He paused and lowered his head to catch Atem’s gaze before it drifted away again. “Believe me — I understand that it may feel unfair now. But this is a sacrifice demanded by our royal blood.”

Atem’s brow furrowed. “Wasn’t Tefnak allowed to marry for love?”

His father grinned knowingly. “Come now, Atem,” he said. “Do you really think I would have invited the _same_ priest and his daughter to the capital three weeks in a row, unless I had other plans for them?”

Atem’s eyes went wide. “You mean—?”

His father laughed and nodded. “I’d been planning for Tefnak to marry Nebetah for months,” he said. “But I know your brother — he wouldn’t have gone along with it if he suspected it was _my_ idea.” His smile fell a bit, and he leaned back. “Unfortunately, such contrived serendipity wasn’t an option for you and Satiah. And for that, I sincerely apologize, my son. You deserve better than what I had.”

Atem lowered his head, staring at the flickering candle again. “What if she hates me?” he said, his voice surprisingly sharp.

His father’s face grew serious, and he nodded lightly. “She may be resentful, for a time,” he admitted. “But you must help her see beyond past injustices, and look to the future of her lineage. One day, her children by you will be lords of Ineb-Hedj, and she must take heart in this.”

But Atem didn’t see how _anyone_ could glean comfort from such a promise. What solace would come from just the hope of future joy, when the present was filled with such sorrow and bitterness? Atem couldn’t ever see Satiah coming to forgive him for what his family had done to hers, and he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. 

Still, he resolved to give his father’s advice a chance. If there was to be any hope for a future with Satiah, Atem would at least have to try. “Will I get to speak with her before we are married?” Atem asked, prompting another chuckle from his father.

“How different you are from your brother,” the king said. “Tefnak only wanted to know about the night after the wedding!” Atem flushed at the thought, his father laughing harder now. “Yes, it will be some time before the preparations for the wedding feast are complete. If your betrothed and her father are agreeable to it, you may spend some time alone with her.”

Little by little, Atem felt his anxiousness abate, though he still knew the next week would feel like a century. “Thank you, father,” he said, standing to leave. The king smiled and nodded, dismissing him and turning back to his work. Atem took a few steps toward the door, but stopped with his hand on the metal ring.

“Was there something else, my son?”

Atem turned back, uncertain whether or not he should speak what was on his mind. “Satiah’s _ka…_ ” he said at last. “And her father’s…”

The king made a low, knowing sound. He reached down and cradled the Millennium Pendant around his neck. “I haven’t yet had the heart to offer them up to the Wedju Shrine,” he said. “Once I do, they will forever sleep in stone.”

Atem felt a deep sorrow in his soul just then. He tried to imagine what life would be like without magic — without the ability to feel and see one’s _ka_ at any given moment. It broke his heart.

“Would you like to see them?”

Atem glanced up at his father, who looked deeply solemn as well. Atem nodded, and the king stood, removing the Pendant and coming around his table to the open area near his window. He whispered a few ancient words, and the Pendant began to shine as it had in the temple courtyard four days prior. A moment later, a bright light swallowed the bedchamber, followed by the warm glow of magic.

Before them sat the familiar shapes of Satiah’s and Metjen’s _ka_ , but Atem instantly knew something was different about them. As the glow from the Pendant subsided, Atem looked closer to see Metjen’s Servant had sealed himself completely in his golden sarcophagus, though it was now beset with cracks and marred with scars. Beside him, Satiah’s Shieldmaiden was sitting, her proud head hung with grief, her form cradled by strange, sweeping shapes that Atem at first thought might be the remnants of her shield. But upon closer inspection, he realized that it was not shards of metal that surrounded her, but the petals of a beautiful blue lotus. Atem took one step forward, and the Maiden snapped her eyes up, piercing his soul with her fiery gaze. A single tear cut sharply down her cheek, dropping from the corner of her jaw to land on the lotus petal before her.

* * *

After a week of grieving, Satiah had no more tears left to cry. She watched, dry-eyed, from the shadows as her brother was embalmed, his soulless husk anointed with sweet-smelling oils and incense before being wrapped carefully in the finest linens in all of Memphis. In a few day’s time, he would be carried in a holy procession to the foothills of the mountains above the city and laid to rest among the rest of his departed family. After that, Satiah would board a vessel bound for Thebes, forever leaving behind everyone and everything she held dear.

The topic of her departure had been seldom brought up between Satiah and her father since the royals had left. Every time she made mention of it, her father changed the subject, or simply ignored her outright. For a while, Satiah attributed it to the grief, but now she wondered if something more serious was going on underneath the surface. He seemed distracted, preoccupied by everything and nothing at the same time. Even now, as his son was being wrapped, Metjen was sitting against the wall of the embalming chamber, staring at his feet.

Satiah moved out of the shadows and came to stand beside the slab on which Metka now rested. One of the two embalmers turned and gave a somber smile as he worked, wrapping a strip of cloth around one of Metka’s legs. “Do you wish to leave a message to your loved one within the linens?” he asked, pausing his work to retrieve an ink brush from the tray of tools beside him. Satiah nodded, taking the brush and moving to the other side of the slab so she could write on the linens wrapped over his heart. She paused, hovering her hand over the wrappings, then drew: “ _Wait for me in the field of reeds_.”

Satiah placed the brush down, then reached up and unhooked the pendant she wore around her neck — a blue lotus, carved and painted on bronze, given to her by her brother on her sixteenth birthday. She ran her finger along it, then tucked it gently behind the wrapping she’d written on. 

Satiah rested her hand over Metka’s heart for a moment, waiting, as if, just maybe, it would begin to beat again. But she felt nothing, and so she coiled her arm back, spinning away to face her father where he sat a few paces behind. Satiah walked toward him and stood over him, her hands curled into fists.

“You haven’t written anything on his wrappings,” she said. Metjen barely acknowledged her presence, his gaze downcast to where he was fiddling with the edge of his robe. “Father, look at me,” she demanded, and he did, flashing his eyes up to her. “Your son may be gone, but I am still here.”

“Not for much longer,” Metjen whispered.

Satiah’s heart felt heavy at the words. It was the first time her father had even acknowledged her departure, let alone expressed any emotion over it. She knelt down beside him, grasping one of his fiddling hands with her own and bringing it to her lap. “Then let us make the most of the time we have left.”

“What is there to do?” Metjen said. “I have no power left. No authority. Even now, that High Priest is turning over my office and seizing my documents. Soon I will be banished from my own home.”

“You must find new purpose,” Satiah pushed. “Father, you must not lose faith. You must not despair. I need you now more than ever.”

Metjen looked up and gave a pitying smile. He lifted his free hand and cupped her face, running his thumb across her cheek. “Oh, my sweet daughter,” he said. “You have nothing to fear of the future. You will be showered with glory and gifts by your new family. You will never want for anything in this world.”

Satiah pulled her hand out of his and backed away from his touch. “I am to be sold to that prince like cattle and you say that I am _lucky?_ ”

“You are,” he said. “My priests tell me that the boy is quiet and kind — unlike his brutish brother. If you are agreeable to him, he will make you happy.”

“Father, are you listening to yourself?” Satiah hissed. “You never once encouraged Metka to be _agreeable._ You think that just because I am to be married, I must at once forget my heritage and become a slave to these people who killed our kin?” Her father said nothing, but he looked hurt, as if the words had left a scar on his heart. “I will not,” Satiah went on. “I am daughter of the nomarch of Ineb-Hedj, and I will be so until the day my flesh returns to the earth.”

Satiah stood, staring down at the top of her father’s head. She waited, hoping he would meet her eyes again and ask for forgiveness. But instead, he returned to fiddling with the edge of his robe. Satiah spun and took a few steps, then stopped and turned her head over her shoulder.

“Our scouts tell me they saw a man with white hair boarding a ship bound for the capital,” she said, and Metjen’s head turned up just a bit. “It seems we may once again cross paths with your brave and loyal servant, Bakura.”


	6. Intent

Atem was grateful when a cloud rolled in front of the sun, casting a soothing shadow over the palace courtyard. It was hard enough to concentrate on Mahad’s lesson without having to wipe sweat from his brow every five seconds.

Though Atem and Mahad were sitting face-to-face, neither could see the other, as both of their  _ ka _ were hovering between them. Today’s lesson was one of meditation and concentration — the object was to keep a ceramic pot suspended in the air using only the will of one’s  _ ka _ .

Atem found the exercise surprisingly hard. It was one thing to order his  _ ka _ to perform a spell it had long since perfected, but another thing entirely to keep a consistent connection to the Magician’s Apprentice using nothing but his thoughts. Atem found himself opening one eye every now and then to see his Apprentice’s shoulders quivering and the pot in front of him wobbling. Meanwhile, the pot in front of the Magician of Illusion was as steady as a statue.

Atem thought he saw Mahad leaning over to check on him, so he quickly closed his eyes again and focused even harder. He was able to maintain his concentration for another moment more before the air broke with a high-pitched squeal, like fingernails down the strings of a lyre.

“E—EE!”

Atem opened his eyes as the sound grew louder, just in time to see a blur of white and brown colliding with him and knocking him flat on the ground. He heard the sound of a pot shattering, and he looked down to see the mass of brown and white was in fact Mana, his childhood friend and fellow student of Mahad’s, lying sprawled on top of him and squeezing his neck. Struggling for breath, he turned his head up to see the curious faces of the Apprentice, Mahad and his Magician all peering down at him.

“Mana,” he wheezed, “you’re crushing me.”

With another high-pitched noise, Mana finally released him and sat up. Atem did the same, rubbing the spot where his head had hit the ground.

“What’s all this for?” he asked.

“How dare you!” she cried, then she punched his shoulder, hard. “Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to be married! I was down in the store rooms hiding in the wine pots, like I usually do, waiting to jump out and scare the servant master when all of a sudden I hear him talking to the groundskeeper about preparing for a  _ wedding!  _ So I’m thinking, is Tefnak taking a second wife? Then I thought, there’s no way he could get  _ two  _ women to like him, so I jumped out — barely gave them any fright, I really hadn’t gotten a chance to wait until the opportune moment, such a shame, you know — and I said ‘who’s getting married?’ and they said ‘the prince’ and I said, ‘what prince?’ and they said ‘prince Atem’ and I nearly  _ screamed _ because I thought, there’s no way Atem would forget to tell me he was getting  _ married!  _ So I went and found Tef and he told me it was true and so I came right here to get it straight from the horse’s mouth! So, tell me everything! Who is she, where did you meet, what’s she like, is she pretty, does she like magic—”

“Mana, slow down,” Atem hissed, still rubbing his arm where she had punched him. “It’s … a long story.”

“Please, oh, please Atem, you simply  _ must  _ tell me every detail about her!”

Suddenly, Mahad stepped forward, casting them both in his shadow. “ _ You  _ were supposed to join us for training today, Mana,” he said, pointing at her. “I don’t see why the prince should have to tell you anything when you can’t even bother to show up for your lessons.”

Mana suddenly fell into a prostrate bow before Mahad. “I’m sorry, Master, I promise I’ll scrub the bathhouse floors for a week! Just tell me, tell me, tell meee—”

“Alright, Mana,” Atem chided. “But first, let’s get out of the heat.”

Atem stood and dispersed his  _ ka _ , Mahad following suit, and the three of them meandered into the adjacent gardens to recline under a tall palm tree.

Atem cleared his throat, avoiding Mana’s and Mahad’s eyes. “Her name is Satiah,” he said quietly. “And she’s the daughter of the nomarch of Ineb-Hedj — well, the former nomarch.” Atem glanced to Mana, who still looked eagerly expectant. “And… That’s about all I know of her.”

Mana’s brow knit. “Huh?” After a moment of thought, her face lit up. “Oh, I see. It was love at first sight, wasn’t it? How romantic!”

Atem looked to Mahad, who offered a wincing smile.

“Not … quite,” Atem went on. “You see, Mana… It’s an arranged marriage.”

“WHA—AT?” she cried. “Arranged marriage?! That’s not fair! Tefnak was able to marry for love. Why don’t you get to?”

“Tefnak had the luxury of marrying during peacetime,” Mahad explained quietly. “Atem is not so lucky. The nomarch of Ineb-Hedj rebelled against the king — and lost. To reestablish peace, the Pharaoh demanded his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Mana’s eyes began to well with tears. “D-demanded? But … that’s so cruel!” she sobbed. “Atem, you simply can’t marry her. Not if you don’t love her!”

Atem’s heart sank as he looked upon his weeping friend. Her innocence was tragically pure. Even still, her words seemed clearer and wiser than any he had received from his family or their advisors up to this point. Since hearing the news, Atem had been constantly preoccupied with how Satiah must be feeling — but he never considered how  _ he _ might feel toward  _ her.  _ Atem was fairly certain he’d never been in love before — admittedly, he’d felt attraction, and he’d met many women of the court who had tried to charm him with their sensuous words and half-lidded gazes. But he wasn’t sure he’d even recognize real, true love if he felt it.

Atem cleared his throat and reached out to touch Mana’s shoulder. “I’m afraid I don’t have a choice, Mana,” he said. “But I do have hope that we will come to care for one another over time. And you can even help me in that endeavor, you know.”

Mana rubbed her eyes and sniffed, looking up at him. “H-how?”

“It is likely Satiah will not know anyone when she arrives,” he explained. “She will need friends if she is to find happiness in her new home. Good friends, who can cheer her up when she’s feeling down. And there’s no one I know who is better at that than you.”

Mana’s watery face lit up with a half-hearted smile. “O-okay, then,” she said. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Atem confirmed. He paused, unsure of how to broach the next subject. “But Mana … there’s something else you must know about the princess-to-be.”

Mana blinked up at him.

“There was one other term to the nomarch’s surrender.” Atem glanced to Mahad, who nodded encouragingly. “Satiah and her father had to forfeit their  _ ka _ before coming to Thebes.”

Mana’s eyes filled with tears again. “You mean…”

“Satiah can no longer cast magic,” Atem confirmed.

To his surprise, Mana’s face did not sink deeper into despair, but rather set with conviction. “You’re right then,” she said, blinking her tears away. “The princess will need a true friend. I won’t let you down, Atem. I promise.”

* * *

The thick scent of frankincense filled Atem’s nose, distracting him from his prayer. He’d already started it over three times since he’d knelt before the statue of Osiris, tucked into the darkened corners of the prayer hall in the Temple of Karnak. Opening one eye, Atem looked over to his left to see his brother struggling through his own prayer, his fingers currently occupied toying with a stray flower on the ground.

The two of them had come to pray in the temple at least once a week for as long as Atem could remember, as part of a promise they had made to their mother on her deathbed. “Pray together,” she had said, with tears in her eyes. “Always together.”

And so they did, never having missed a week in over a decade. It was a way for them to connect, as brothers — to enjoy what was left of their youth, and briefly shirk the responsibilities their royal titles often levied upon them. They would walk side by side along the raised promenade from the palace to the temple, joking about the latest silly thing to happen at court, or discussing which gods they would pray to. Tefnak almost always chose Horus, the god of the sky and the protector of Egypt. As the heavenly manifestation of the Pharaoh, Tef saw himself in Horus, hoping to one day inherit the god’s bravery and might.

Atem almost never chose the same deity twice in a row. When he needed reassurance, he might go to Hathor or Bastet; when he was feeling artfully inspired, he might go to Ptah or Thoth. Today, with the thought of marriage looming over him, Osiris seemed the most appropriate. As holy father and husband, surely Osiris would be able to offer some wisdom to guide him through the upcoming weeks. 

But Atem feared if he had to start his prayer over again, Osiris would simply strike him down out of annoyance. Hurriedly, he mouthed his way through the rest of it — asking for patience, wisdom and the like — then bowed his head and stood. When he turned, Tef was already standing as well, bouncing his foot distractedly.

“Did Osiris heed your prayer, brother?” Tef asked, turning to walk side by side with Atem. Even in his near whisper, Tef’s words reverberated off the high ceiling. Thankfully, the hall had been mostly cleared of other patrons by the city guard ahead of the princes’ arrival. Only a few shadows moved between the statues, mainly servants and priests.

Atem made a short noise in reply. “I suppose we’ll see.”

“What did you pray for?” Tef prodded, throwing his arm around Atem’s shoulder. “A strong stomach to hold your wine during the wedding feast? Or perhaps the  _ vitality _ to make it through the night?”

Atem flushed, but his thoughts were drawn away from the conversation at the feel of something cold touching his feet. Stepping away, he looked down to see a small puddle of water rising up, then receding into the cracks in the floor.

“Apologies, my prince,” came a soft voice from a few feet away. Atem looked over to see a servant woman on her knees with a bucket of water beside her. Even in the dark, Atem could tell she was beautiful — dark-skinned with honey-colored eyes, a full-lipped smile, and tightly woven braids that hung down to her waist.

“No need,” Atem replied, returning her smile. They held each other’s gazes for a while — long enough for Tef to take notice, who soon grabbed Atem by the shoulder and pulled him along again.

“Vitality, indeed,” Tef muttered. “A shame you have to be married so soon. Now is the time you should be sowing your wild oats.”

Atem stole a glance over his shoulder at the servant woman as he and Tef turned toward the exit of the temple. “It is what it is,” Atem replied, shielding his eyes as Ra’s gaze welcomed them back into the open air.

Tef pulled his arm back and pushed Atem’s shoulder in jest. “You always were too serious,” he said. “You need to lighten up — go blow off some steam. Especially before you’re forced to put on a show for that sour woman and her father.”

“She’s not sour,” Atem chided.

Tef scoffed. “Did you hear the way she spoke to Father? ‘It is not your  _ words  _ that offend us!’” He put his hand to his chest and rolled his eyes in mockery. “I feel sorry for you, little brother. She may be easy on the eyes, but I fear the venom of her tongue will outlast her beauty.”

Atem forced a laugh, but Tef’s harsh words lingered on his mind as they walked. He was grateful the gods had seen fit to match Tefnak with Nebetah — she was patient and gentle, everything Tef was not. Atem was afraid to imagine Tef trying to contend with a spirited woman like Satiah, and it led Atem to wonder how he himself would manage to find common ground with her. It was a thought that often invaded his mind lately, ever since his father had granted his permission for them to meet before the wedding. Atem had spent the last few days trying to plan what he would do when she arrived — thinking of ways to make her feel welcome in a place that was sure to feel almost like a foreign country to her. He wondered now if it wouldn’t have been easier to delay their meeting until the wedding night, like his father had done.

“Well, you still have another week of freedom before they arrive,” Tef went on. “You’ll have to make the most of it.”

* * *

Atem let out a deep sigh when he finally crossed the threshold to his bedchamber. It had been a long day — between lessons with Mahad, walking the city with Tef, and somehow finding time for a meal here and there, Atem was ready for a warm bath and a good night’s rest. He had already asked the servant master to draw the water, but it would be some time before it would be warm enough to use. While he waited, he busied himself with removing his adornments — his circlet, his golden collar, earrings and bangles — placing them on his bureau, along with his cloak and tunic. 

He kicked his feet out of his sandals and walked barefoot across the room to one of the two large, open windows overlooking the gardens and the west bank of the Nile beyond. Ra’s light was now only a strip along the horizon, his dying rays beckoning Khonsu’s moonlight out from behind the clouds to shine upon Egypt. The thought made Atem sleepy, so he reclined on the padded bench beneath the window and closed his eyes, listening to the chirping of birds and trickling of water in the gardens below.

It seemed only a moment later when a soft hand fell upon his shoulder, jolting him out of his dozing slumber. Atem drew in a deep breath and turned his head to look upon a familiar face standing over him.

It was the servant woman — the same one who had been scrubbing the floors in the Karnak prayer hall earlier that day.

“I’m sorry to wake you, my prince,” she breathed, her hand still heavy on his shoulder.

For a moment Atem thought he was dreaming. It seemed odd that one of the servants from Karnak would suddenly be in the palace — and in his bedchamber, no less. He figured she had come to fetch him for his bath, but he had never seen her among the bathhouse staff before, and she was not dressed like one either.

“You,” he said, somewhat more accusing than he’d meant to.

She smiled, and her beauty arrested him momentarily — her sand-colored eyes shining in the moonlight. Just then, she turned her body to sit on the bench beside him, and the sudden closeness caused Atem to draw himself up onto his elbows. She kept light pressure on his shoulder, however, preventing him from fully sitting up.

“I’ve never seen you in the palace before,” he remarked, swallowing down a knot in his throat. 

The woman smiled wider and shook her head, lowering her hand a bit until it was resting squarely in the center of his chest. “Your brother sent me,” she whispered, curling her fingers down until her nails were tickling his flesh.

Atem sucked in another deep breath, his arms beginning to quake from supporting his weight. 

“He wanted to see if I could … be of service.” Her fingers traveled lower still, and instinctively, Atem snapped his own hand out to stop her, causing her to jump a bit. He had not meant to startle her, but he was grateful to be released from the spell of her touch all the same. 

“What is your name?” he asked, rising to sit up against the arm of the bench. 

“Ibi, my prince.”

“Ibi,” he said, releasing her hand. “I’m sorry, but I believe you’ve misunderstood my brother’s intent. I apologize if he has offended you.”

“No apologies are necessary, my prince,” she said. “I am here of my own free will. I seek only to give you comfort in your time of need…” She reached her hand out again, this time walking her fingers up his wrist and forearm. “Your brother tells me you are anxious of your upcoming wedding,” she went on, slipping her fingers over the soft flesh at his inner arm. “And that you are … relatively inexperienced.”

Atem cursed his brother’s meddling, but the embarrassment he felt was soon clouded again by the thrill of Ibi’s touch. He made no move to stop her this time as she stroked her fingers down to his hand, taking it in hers and turning it over.

“I could help you,” she whispered, lowering her head until it was inches away from his. “I could teach you the ways of a woman’s body…” She pulled his hand up, then laid it on her thigh, which sat exposed to the night air through a slit in her dress. “About all the valleys and ridges … and how to explore their pleasures.” She guided his hand higher now, until it was resting on the curve of her hip, and Atem found his fingers curling, unbidden, down into the warm flesh. “That is … if you’ll have me.”

With each passing moment, the scale of virtue in his heart was tipping ever more toward the temptation of sin. He knew it would be unwise to accept such an offer, but in all his years he had never felt such exhilaration, radiating like a soft pulse from his very core. It thrilled him to think of living in this single moment for once, and forsaking all the ones that would come after.

And so, Atem resolved not to think anymore. He leaned up, raising his other hand to snake around the small of Ibi’s back, and he tugged so that she fell against him, her arms coming to steady herself against his chest. He looked up at her through heavily lidded eyes, her own honeyed gaze flicking back and forth across his face. They were so close their noses almost touched, and Atem could feel the hot sweetness of her breath against his lips. Gently, he lifted one hand to cradle her face, then slipped it back behind her head and brought her lips to his, kissing her with a passion he didn’t even know he had.


	7. Gifts

When Atem awoke the next morning, it was to the harsh rays of Ra’s light, already high in the sky. He blinked and covered his eyes, unaccustomed to being so exposed to the sun so early. It was then he remembered that he was still lying on the bench below his window, covered only with a twisted sheet stolen from his bed at some point in the night. As he sat up, casting his face out of reach of the sun, memories from the night before came flooding back. Closing his eyes, he remembered with content the moonlit curves of Ibi’s body, rising above him in ecstacy. Briefly, the spread of warmth returned to the pit of his stomach, but when he opened his eyes again, it was gone — just as she was. Instead, a burn of shame came to his cheeks, now forced to face his questionable judgement in the harsh light of day.

As Atem rose and dressed himself, he decided he didn’t  _ regret  _ his decision to spend the night with Ibi, but he couldn’t fully condone it either. It was true — he wasn’t married yet, and there was nothing particularly sordid about the affair. He hadn’t paid her; she hadn’t extorted him. It was nothing more than a spontaneous fling. Not to mention, it was one that he hadn’t even sought out himself. Tefnak, after all, had been the one to send her to his room. 

Once decent, Atem left his bedchamber, alternating between cursing and commending his brother. He headed down the hall and out toward the terrace overlooking the gardens, where he usually had breakfast with his family. Sure enough, when he emerged onto the covered balcony, Tefnak was already sitting at the head of the table, grinning like a fool.

Atem tried to conceal his own smile as he took his seat, keeping his eyes locked on the bowl of eggs sitting before him. Tef made a clicking sound with his tongue, taking a roll from the center of the table and tearing it in half.

“You’re looking rather …  _ refreshed, _ ” he said, taking a bite of the bread.

Atem shot him a look of daggers as he scooped some eggs onto his plate. “And I suppose I should be thanking you for that?”

Tef grinned wider. “Consider it an early wedding gift,” he said, mouth half-full. “Don’t say I never got you anything, brother.”

“You seem to have a habit of getting me things I didn’t ask for,” Atem shot back, picking up a wooden spoon and stabbing it into his meal.

“Oh, please,” Tef scoffed. “I saw you making eyes at her in the temple yesterday. How very  _ blasphemous _ of you.”

Atem must have done a poor job concealing his guilt, because Tef dropped his roll and gave a reproachful look. “I jest!” he said. “These are your last days of freedom, brother. You deserve to enjoy them.”

Atem opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by a loud cry from behind him. He turned, just in time to see Meriti’s miniature form emerging from the stairway to the garden, his mother in tow. Meriti raised his hands as he rushed toward his uncle, and Atem let out an exaggerated cry as he lifted the boy into his lap. 

“Sooprise attack!” Meriti shouted.

“A wise move, little soldier!” Atem said. “You nearly got me.”

“You said you’d play with me before breakfast,” Meriti whined.

“Did I?” Atem said. “I must have slept in. That just means we’ll have to play  _ twice  _ as long after I finish.”

Meriti grinned a half-toothed smile and giggled. “That’s okay. Papo says I’ll have plenty of little cousins to play with soon!”

Atem felt his ears burn as Nebetah and Tef stifled their laughter. Neb ruffled her son’s hair, then took him under the arms and lifted him out of Atem’s lap. “Come on, monster,” she said. “Let your uncle finish his food so he can come and play.”

Meriti whined again as his mother took him back into the gardens, and Atem narrowed his eyes at his brother, who was looking ruefully occupied with his food all of a sudden.

“Do me a favor,” Atem said, “and don’t give me any more gifts.”

* * *

The humming excitement and activity of the Memphis bazaar gave Satiah a boost of much-needed energy. After spending days sulking in dark chambers and tombs, it felt good to be in the warm embrace of daylight, rubbing shoulders with her people for what would likely be the last time.

In truth, it had taken her handmaiden some time to convince her to come to the market — it hadn’t even been a full day since they had laid Metka to rest, and it felt like betrayal for her to enjoy anything so soon after such a somber occasion. Thankfully, Tuya had insisted, reminding Satiah that she still needed to buy wedding gifts for her new family. 

Between sampling fresh fruits and running her fingers along the fine silks from the eastern weavers, Satiah almost forgot about the inconvenient reason she’d been dragged out in the first place. It wasn’t until Tuya pointed out a trader’s stall that the dreaded thought of her wedding returned. It was customary for the bride and groom to provide offerings to the gods before exchanging gifts of their own, but Satiah didn’t have the slightest idea as to the inclinations of her betrothed. From what little she’d heard through the whispers at court, the second-born son of Aknamkanon was an exceptionally average young man, if not a bit dull.

Satiah crossed her arms as Tuya shuffled through the trader’s wares. “I hear the prince likes games,” Tuya said, picking up a beautiful senet board carved from ivory.

“Am I to marry a child?” Satiah felt a pang of guilt when Tuya’s face fell. “I’m sorry,” Satiah said. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

Tuya put down the game and laid her hand on Satiah’s shoulder. “No offense taken, my lady. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

Satiah forced a smile. “That’s no excuse for my cheek,” she said. “I must be unbearable lately.”

Tuya took Satiah’s hands in hers, stroking them in a motherly fashion. Satiah hated being pitied, but she knew it was coming from a good place. 

Satiah was about to suggest returning to the villa when the trader running the stall caught sight of her. He let out an exaggerated gasp, his eyes going wide. “Can this be?” he breathed. “The nomarch’s daughter patronizing my very own stall?”

Satiah turned away from Tuya and flexed her jaw, sizing up the man. He was squat and round, dressed in silks much finer than someone of his station should have been able to afford.  _ “Former _ nomarch’s daughter,” she corrected.

The trader looked horrified, then bent into a steep bow. “Anubis pity me and my wretched tongue!” he gasped. “I almost forgot. You are betrothed to the prince now, are you not?”

Satiah fought more consternation as she gave a subtle nod.

The trader straightened, his expression shifting once again, this time to one of sympathy. He removed the head cloth he wore, revealing wiry white hairs surrounding a large, shining bald spot on the top of his head. “I was utterly heartbroken to hear about the tragedy that happened at the temple last week,” he said, his voice a low whisper now. “Your brother was one of the finest spellcasters of our age. His passing will be mourned for years to come.”

Satiah wanted to keep up her facade of impatience, but in truth, she was quite thankful to hear the man’s sympathies. High Priest Aknadin had gone to great lengths to quell public unrest following her family’s surrender, even going as far as to forbid public memorials or funerary services in her brother’s name. It felt good to be reminded that the citizens of Memphis hadn’t forgotten her family just yet. “Thank you,  _ shewtey _ ,” she said.

The trader replaced his head cloth and gave a light nod. “So — what brings you to browse my wares this eve, my lady?” He pursed his lips. “Or — should I say Princess?”

Satiah flashed her eyes up, fighting a smile. “Lady is more than fine,  _ shewtey _ ,” she said. “Though as it happens, I am indeed in search of a wedding gift.”

The trader lit up with a grin. “It seems fortune is still in your favor then, my lady,” he said. “I have in my possession a selection of goods that are, in my humble opinion, fit for a king!”

Satiah huffed, turning her attention to the shelves of the trader’s stall. She ran her fingers along some of his wares: a wide  _ usekh  _ collar strung with gold leaf and rubies; a solid bronze  _ ankh _ carved with a prayer to Osiris; but eventually, she hummed her disinterest. “My handmaiden tells me the prince is partial to games,” she said offhandedly. 

The trader pointed to the senet board Tuya had been handling moments before, but Satiah shook her head. 

“I’m sure he already has dozens,” she said. “I’m looking for something a bit more …  _ unique.” _

The trader pulled back and stroked his chin a moment. Then, he made a triumphant noise and turned to disappear into the darkness of his stall. Satiah shot Tuya an unamused glance, who giggled into the back of her hand.

The trader reappeared a moment later, bearing a heavy ceramic box carved all over with pin-straight, precise lines of hieroglyphs. He set it down on the counter of his stall with a loud  _ thump. _ “I do believe this is  _ just _ what you’re looking for, my lady,” he said assuredly.

Satiah leaned over and inspected the box. It seemed nothing special at first — until her eyes were drawn to the cover, where, carved deeply into the ceramic, was the cartouche of Ramesses the Great.

Cocking her head, Satiah looked up at the trader. “May I?” she asked.

He swept his hand out and nodded. Carefully, Satiah took the cover in both hands and lifted it away, revealing the contents of the box: dozens of tiny bronze ornaments and baubles, all shimmering together in the light of the sinking sun.

She looked up at the trader. “What is it?”

He smirked. “A  _ puzzle,  _ my lady,” he said matter-of-factly. “One that was said to have been designed by the Great King himself.”

Satiah replaced the cover and straightened up, clicking her tongue. Puzzles weren’t a particularly popular pastime amongst commoners, so she wasn’t surprised the trader was trying to foist this artifact off on her. Still, the intricacy of the box and the fine craftsmanship of the pieces had indeed piqued her interest, a fact which appeared not to have escaped the trader, who was rubbing his hands together expectantly.

“And what shape is this puzzle meant to take?” she asked, still trying to feign indifference.

The trader’s face fell. “Some say only the Great King himself truly knows,” he said with a deep sigh and a shrug of his shoulders. “An effigy for his  _ ka _ , perhaps — or maybe even his legendary crook and flail, which are said to have been lost for centuries.”

Satiah hummed skeptically. “Well I’m afraid I can’t place my faith in maybes,” she said, crossing her arms. “I can’t risk giving my future husband something  _ profane, _ after all.”

She turned to leave, and suddenly the trader lurched forward. “Wait, my lady!” he gasped. Satiah looked at him over her shoulder. “What if I were to … knock a few gold pieces off the price?”

She hid a smile. “I’m listening.”

* * *

Atem tried to resist the temptation to return to Karnak, but by the time the sun had reached its noontime peak, he was already making his way down the promenade and entering the cool shelter of the prayer hall.

He meandered between the statues for a while, alternating between bowing his head in feigned prayer and craning his neck to look down the aisles for any sign of Ibi. As he searched, he felt a small twist of guilt in his gut, but it was overshadowed by the warm glow of excitement that had plagued him since the night before. It wasn’t until Atem passed the statue of Hathor, who glared down at him with a disapproving motherly look, that he finally stopped and felt some sense return to him.

Hathor. The favored goddess of his mother. What would the queen think of him if she could see him now, fawning over a girl like a lost puppy? And merely a week before his own wedding, no less. The thought made him feel suddenly very small, like the lonely and confused child he had been back when his mother had been taken. It pained him to think of kneeling before the gods and binding himself to another human being, without the love and support of his own mother behind him.

“Thinking about your wedding?”

Atem nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound and feel of a whisper floating by his ear. He sidestepped and turned, struck to a standstill by the sight of Ibi standing beside him.

“W-what?” Atem stammered.

She grinned at what must have been a very amusing expression on his face. “Your wedding,” she repeated. “Are you thinking about which god you and your wife will kneel before?”

“Oh… Yes,” he lied, turning to look back at Hathor again. The mother-goddess seemed somehow even more chagrined than before.

Ibi cocked her head in thought. “Hathor,” she said. “The safe choice.”

Atem was surprised at first, then charmed by her forwardness. “Oh?” he lilted. “Would you suggest another?”

The captivating smile returned to Ibi’s lips, and Atem felt his heart start to flutter up into his throat. “Well, I don’t claim to be an expert in your Egyptian gods, but…” She stopped, looking side to side down the aisle of statues. Atem was bemused by the statement, but he was distracted yet again when Ibi suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand. “If I may…”

She tugged him deeper into the shadows of the prayer hall, ducking at least two rows beyond Hathor’s. With each step, Atem felt his cheeks grow warmer, his thoughts preoccupied with the soft yet firm grip of her hand. She came to a stop just beyond a large hypostyle pillar, which was hiding a shrine that had been tented closed on all four sides with sheer linens. The flames from a handful of candles flickered behind the curtains, casting the statue’s eerie shadow up through the canopy and onto the ceiling.

Ibi crept closer to the shrine, smiling impishly. Once within reach, she released Atem’s hand and put one finger to her lips before pulling the curtains back. Curious, Atem peered inside, greeted with the bronze curves of a woman’s body, and a ferocious lioness head atop it.

“Sekhmet,” Ibi whispered. “Now  _ there’s _ a goddess worth her salt. Patron of battle, protector of warriors…” Ibi walked through the curtain, holding it open for Atem to follow. “…arouser of passions.”

Atem took a deep breath as he entered, his head growing fuzzy from all the incense burning at Sekhmet’s feet. He looked at Ibi through the cloud of smoke, his thoughts drifting to her offhanded statement from earlier. “Where do you hail from if not mother Egypt?” he asked.

Ibi’s smile fell a bit, and she crossed her arms. “My parents were taken as prisoners during the Nubian wars,” she explained. “They were slaves to Egyptian masters for a time… Until your father banned the slave trade after the war ended.”

The sensuous direction of the conversation suddenly took a sharp turn — Atem remembered that the conflict around the Nubian wars had been the catalyst that spawned the Millennium Items.

“It’s strange,” Ibi went on, moving to rest her hand on Sekhmet’s knee. “I’ve never known any home other than Egypt. I’ve never even left Thebes… And yet, I still feel like I don’t quite  _ fit _ here.”

“You do,” Atem said, surprised by the urgency in his voice. “I just mean… Egypt is home to many peoples now. We value the peaceful exchange of knowledge and cultures.”

Ibi turned, looking somewhat heartened by his words. “You sound like you’re auditioning for the role of Pharaoh,” she teased. “Should your brother be worried?”

Atem laughed wryly, the burn returning to his cheeks as Ibi took a step forward.

“No, I don’t think so,” she whispered, lifting her hand to tap a finger on his chest. “I think you’re happy… Right. Where. You are.”

The drumming of her finger was like the wave of a wand — casting him under Ibi’s spell again. He blinked down at her, then lifted his own hand to stroke across the exposed skin on her upper arm. “Well, I  _ do  _ still have much to learn, about a great many things,” he said, “as you have so clearly demonstrated.”

Ibi bit her lip to temper a mischievous smile. “Lucky for me, you’re an ambitious pupil.” She pushed gently against his chest, encouraging his body backward until she had him pinned against the statue behind. Ibi’s motions were as fluid as water — both of her hands rising up to press down on his shoulders now. Atem followed her directions in earnest, sinking to sit on the gentle slope of Sekhmet’s feet. With one hand still resting on his shoulder, Ibi turned her body and lowered it to sit crosswise in his lap, summoning another burst of excitement into his core. She snaked her arm the rest of the way behind his neck, bringing her body into his like the tide of the Nile up its shores.

“Are you ready for your next lesson, my prince?”


	8. Impression

Whenever Ibi laughed, Atem was in heaven.

Her voice had an almost musical quality to it, like a minstrel holding a decadent vibrato. He had spent the last hour listening to her laugh and talk while entangled in her arms, delightedly following the low notes of her tenor and the breathiness in her whispers. Never had his bed felt so warm, even in the dead of the desert night. He was so content with Ibi lying beside him, he didn’t even care that she was currently interrogating him about Satiah.

“Come  _ on,” _ Ibi sighed, leaning up and resting her head on her hand. “You must have  _ some _ opinion about her… What does she look like?”

Atem smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “She’s … appealing, I guess,” he said. “Thick hair. Nice skin. Brown eyes.”

Ibi gave him a wry look. “How descriptive,” she said flatly.

Atem laughed. “Well, what can I say? I didn’t even get close enough to throw a stone at her.”

“But she must have made you  _ feel  _ something.”

Atem’s smile fell, and he reached out to hold her upper arm, running his thumb across the smooth skin. “To be honest, I didn’t even really think about her until she spoke.”

Ibi peered down at him. “And then?”

“And then … she left an impression,” Atem admitted.

“How so?”

Atem took a deep breath, Ibi’s arm rising and falling with the swell of his chest. “She was incredibly confident,” he said. “So sure of herself and everything around her. As if she already knew  _ me _ better than I knew myself.”

Ibi looked different just then, but not altogether jealous as Atem had suspected. Simply curious — attentive. It made him want to keep going, even though a smarter man wouldn’t have.

“Her  _ ka _ was the same,” he said. “Surprisingly fierce. I’ll never forget the way it stopped the hammerblow from my brother’s  _ ka _ as if it weighed no more than a feather.”

“Sounds like you have quite the woman on your hands,” Ibi teased, and Atem laughed. 

A quiet stillness fell over his bedchamber, and from the open window he could hear the cicadas droning endlessly in the garden below. He took hold of her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the top of it. Gently, Ibi pulled it away, brushing one finger across his cheek and tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

“So,” she said, smiling. “Have you thought about what kind of gift you could give such a woman on her wedding day?”

Atem felt his heart drop into his stomach. He’d almost forgotten about the matrimonial gift rite, which mandated an offering to the gods, as well as to his wife. 

Ibi laughed at the expression on his face, then sat up. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Atem also drew himself up against a pillow. “Well… I was just hoping my teacher could help me,” he said, giving her an entreating look.

Ibi narrowed her eyes. “Is that so?” she said, leaving the bed and retrieving her gown from the corner poster. Atem was mournful to see her leave, but he delighted in watching her slip back into her clothes. “Well, you’re in luck,” she went on, moving back toward him. “I have just the idea.”

Ibi leaned in for a kiss, and Atem closed his eyes at the feel of her lips brushing his.

“Meet me in the west market tomorrow at noon.”

* * *

Satiah sighed as she closed the lid on her last trunk of belongings. She turned around and sat on it, casting her eyes around her all-but empty room. The only things that remained were a chair with two dresses folded neatly on it, and her bed, in which she would sleep just one more night before boarding the ship to Thebes — to her future. 

This was the only room she’d ever called her own. It had been hers since she was a girl, and she chose to remain in it even when larger rooms in the villa became vacant over the years. It had two large windows, one which afforded a beautiful view of the city and the Nile, and one overlooking the villa courtyard. The room faced east, meaning she always awoke with the first light of sun on a new day. And it was just across the courtyard from her brother’s and father’s rooms — still close, but far enough away to feel private and personal.

It was her sanctuary. And come tomorrow, she would never see it again.

Satiah had, for many days, been only vaguely inconvenienced by thoughts of her new reality. Yes, she would be moving to a new city, and yes, she would be married soon after. But she hadn’t allowed herself to really  _ think  _ about what that meant. She would no longer have her own room — her own space to retreat to when she was feeling overwhelmed. In less than a week, she would be expected to share everything with someone she knew very little about — her belongings, her habits, her thoughts. And her bed.

The thought made her wince. She had almost forgotten the whole point of this arrangement in the first place: to make children. Children who would one day grow up to inherit the legacy that, less than a week ago, had belonged solely to her brother’s bloodline. Even more than marriage, the responsibility of motherhood terrified her. When Metka was alive, Satiah had been spoiled by the knowledge that it ultimately wouldn’t matter whether or not she had children — but now, it was expected to be her sole purpose in life.

Satiah was pulled from her thoughts when two servants entered her room.

“Sorry to intrude, my lady,” said one, obviously noting the look of surprise she gave him. “Is your last trunk ready to be loaded?”

Satiah gave a small smile. “Yes, of course,” she said, standing aside. The servants leaned and hoisted the trunk, carrying it out the door and down the stairs.

Satiah moved to her window to watch the servants loading the last of her belongings into a cart for transport, and her thoughts drifted to her father; across the courtyard, she could just barely see shadows moving about in his room as well. As he was no longer acting nomarch of Ineb-Hedj, he would soon be kicked out of the villa and forced to find a new home. 

Satiah’s father had spent the last week going back and forth about what he would do with his future. He would travel with his daughter to Thebes to be witness to her wedding, but after that, his purpose would be all but spent. Though the High Priest had been quick to take over governing responsibilities in Memphis, the Pharaoh had been kind enough not to let Aknadin touch their family’s personal wealth. But what savings they did have would not last Satiah’s father more than a few months without steady work, and he wasn’t getting any younger — to return to the trades or manual labor at his age would surely drive him to an early death.

Satiah’s heart grew heavy thinking about such a fate, so she left her empty room and crossed the courtyard to enter her father’s living quarters. Here, too, servants were milling about, but there was no sign of her father. She weaved between the workers and climbed up to the second floor, peering into the bedroom to see him sitting at his table. The room was otherwise empty, but there was a small, lit brazier in front of him, along with a pile of papyri beside it. He had just taken a page and thrown it into the brazier when Satiah announced her presence with a knock on the doorframe.

Metjen looked up, surprised at first, then relieved upon seeing her. “There you are,” he said, reaching for a fresh papyrus from a stack next to him. “All packed?”

Satiah nodded, then looked around the room. “I see you are as well.”

He made a low noise. “I’m having most of my things brought to the market to sell,” he explained, tipping the corner of the papyrus down into the coals until it caught flame. “That should help stretch my finances a bit.”

Satiah’s brows knit, and she walked forward to get a closer look at what he was doing. “What’s all this about?”

Her father glanced up and flashed a smile. “Sensitive correspondence,” he replied. “Well, whatever I could get my hands on before that damned High Priest turned everything over. Did you know Priest Kebu was having a  _ shameless  _ affair with a dock worker’s wife?”

Satiah’s scoffed disbelievingly, and her father handed her the next papyrus on the stack. She scanned it, her mouth dropping at the sordid contents.

“He seemed such a pious man,” she teased, tipping the papyrus into the flames.

Metjen laughed wryly. “Yes, and that’s not even the most intriguing thing I found in the Conclave’s archive,” he said, sifting through the stack to pull out a handful of pages. “It seems in his haste, our white-haired friend left behind some of his most …  _ academic _ works.”

Satiah took the papyri, her stomach turning at the sight: there, drawn on the first page in striking accuracy, was the Millennium Ring. Her eyes went wide as she flipped the corner down to the next page, only to be greeted with more sketches of the Items. “Bakura drew these?”

Her father nodded. “I found them amongst his personal items,” he said. “And it’s a damned good thing I did. If Aknadin had seen these, my head would be on a spike right now.”

“But what does this mean?” Satiah asked, continuing to sift through the pages.

“I don’t know what to make of it,” Metjen replied. “Whenever he and I spoke about the Items, he appeared to have the same distaste for them that I did. And yet, these drawings seem to indicate some kind of strange …  _ obsession _ with them. It doesn’t make any sense.”

But it did to Satiah. She had always felt an air of duplicitousness about Bakura, as if he had been plotting something since the day he set foot in the Memphis court. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he had simply used her family to get close to the Items, though for what purpose, she couldn’t fathom. If he had meant to steal them, summoning the royal family to Memphis and dueling them in broad daylight didn’t seem like a particularly clever plan. But the longer she thought about it, the more the theory seemed plausible. The Pharaoh had not come to Memphis to quarrel, after all, and Bakura must have known this.

Satiah blinked and handed the papyri back to her father. “What will you do with this knowledge?”

Metjen took the pages back and stared at them. “What can I do?” he said. “Bakura is long gone by now. To alert the royal court at this point would only make me look complicit in his escape. Or worse — in his treachery.”

“But Father,” Satiah pleaded, “we don’t know the man’s intentions. Unlike us, he did not bow to the Pharaoh upon defeat. If he decides to carry on his own uprising, our association with him will only continue to haunt us like a shadow.” Satiah could see the thoughts thrashing around in her father’s eyes. “And need I remind you, I am soon to become part of the royal family,” she went on. “If violence is indeed Bakura’s intent, the royals may not be the only victims this time.”

Metjen sighed and placed the papyri down on his table. “You’re right,” he said, folding Bakura’s drawings into a small square. “I will speak to the Pharaoh… But not until after your wedding.” He placed a tab of wax into a bronze tray and held it over the smoldering coals to melt. “We need not give our king any more reason to mistrust us.”

Satiah laughed inwardly at this — of course her father would listen to her advice  _ now _ , after so much damage had already been done.

Metjen stamped his clay seal into the wax, then pressed it firmly onto the seam of the folded drawings. After fanning the pages to harden the wax, he slipped them into a leather pouch and tied it closed.

* * *

Atem’s stomach turned with nervous excitement as he wove through the city streets, his identity concealed by a hood thrown over his head and his cloak wrapped around his face. It was strangely surreal to see no eyes turned to him as he walked — no bodies brought to their knees. He had been through the market many times, but always escorted by the kingsguard or hidden in a netted palanquin. To walk the streets as a commoner made him feel strikingly and comfortingly normal.

It took him a while to find his bearings amongst the countless cross-streets and stairwells, but eventually he set himself on the right track toward the western market. The entrance was hard to miss — the archway was decorated with brightly colored linens and dangling artifacts for sale. Atem let his eyes roam over it for a moment before his gaze was drawn to a familiar form off to the side. Ibi was leaning against the wall, fanning herself in the noonday heat.

Atem approached her slowly, but she paid him no mind until he was almost in arm’s reach. She jumped, her expression flashing with fear before settling on recognition. It took Atem only a moment to realize it was probably because of his strange attire.

“Gods,” she hissed, “you look like a leper.”

Atem smiled, though he knew she probably couldn’t see it. “Sorry. I didn’t want to be recognized.”

“Well, you achieved that,” she said, covering her heart with her hand. “Come.”

She jerked her head toward the market, then led the way into it. Atem followed, taking a deep breath and filling his lungs with rich and exotic scents. All around him, merchants shouted and beckoned to him from their streetside stalls, and in the fuss he almost lost Ibi. Skittering closer, he followed as she dipped down an alley and emerged in a quieter sector, this one with more formal storefronts. Ibi passed by a few shops — a blacksmith hard at work hammering iron, a weaver racking her loom — until they came upon a quaint shop with a collection of tiny gold amulets hanging in the window. Ibi pulled aside the curtain in the doorway and stepped inside.

Atem followed, casting his eyes along the linen-lined walls, which were covered from top to bottom in trinkets — precious gems and jewelry hanging from pegs or strung along twine from the ceiling, shelves overflowing with countless artifacts and effigies.

“Rashef?” Ibi called. A beat of silence passed, then a scrambling commotion could be heard from behind a curtain at the back of the room.

_ “Coming!” _

Atem jumped when the curtain threw itself back, revealing a bizarre-looking elderly man. He wore a shabby black wig, which sat cockeyed upon his small head, and his narrow shoulders were covered by an enormous  _ usekh _ collar that looked to weigh about as much as he did altogether. He wore no tunic, but his  _ shendyt _ appeared to have been woven together from four or five different pieces of cloth.

His beady black eyes squinted through the dim store at his patrons. “Ibi?” he said, wrinkling his nose. “That you?”

“Yes, Rashef,” she said, sounding impatient. “I told you yesterday I’d be coming with a buyer.”

Rashef’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes!” he exclaimed. “Of course, of course — come in, my friend.”

Ibi took Atem by the arm and pulled him forward. “Rashef, this is — gods, take that silly thing off.” She grabbed Atem’s hood, pulling it away. “This is —”

“Gods be praised!” Rashef exclaimed. “Prince Atem!” Rashef struggled into an awkward bow, falling down to one knee, then the other. As he lowered his upper body, Atem was afraid the weight of Rashef’s collar would topple him right over.

“Please,” Atem said, “there’s no need for that.”

Rashef straightened up and pushed himself, with some effort, back to his feet. He seemed neither curious nor concerned with the fact that a royal prince was in the company of a servant girl. “Your highness! You grace me with your presence. To what do I owe such an honor?”

Atem looked nervously at Ibi, then back to the shopkeeper. “I’m … looking for a wedding gift.”

“Of course you are,” Rashef said with a knowing nod. “I heard just yesterday of your betrothal. What a joyous occasion! Well, you’ve come to the right place, my prince. As you can see, I am a collector of most rare and valuable items.” He gestured to the walls of his shop, and Atem simply smiled awkwardly. “What can I help you find?”

“Well, that’s just the thing,” Atem said, looking desperately to Ibi for help. “I don’t really know what I’m looking for yet.”

Suddenly, Ibi’s cleared her throat from behind him. “What about your jewelry, Rashef?” she proposed.

Rashef’s face lit up with a grin. “Why, yes!” He dropped back to the wall and stood on his toes to reach two necklaces slung on pegs overhead. “I have some of the most dazzling gems in all of Egypt. Sapphires and rubies and—” Atem flinched when the shopkeep whirled around and held the necklaces up against his chest. “No, no… That won’t do.” Rashef threw them both back in two completely different places and turned to rummage on a shelf instead. “This is for a  _ princess _ , after all…”

Atem glanced over his shoulder to see Ibi barely containing her laughter; Rashef soon came back, holding out an immense gold bangle with the wings of Isis carved into it. “This armlet was said to have been worn by Nefertiti herself!”

Atem accepted it, then turned to Ibi, who raised her eyebrows curiously. Clearing his throat, he looked back at Rashef. “How about something a bit less …  _ heavy?” _

Rashef squinted at him a moment, then snapped his fingers and scurried away between his shelves again.

When Atem looked at Ibi again, she seemed thoroughly entertained. She took the bangle and placed it back on a nearby shelf. “He’s a bit eccentric,” she whispered, “but his stock is the real deal.”

Atem huffed. “I thought you said you were going to help me,” he hissed back.

“I said I had an  _ idea _ , not that I’d handpick the gift for you,” she quipped, turning her back to him to inspect the contents of a different shelf. Sighing, Atem, too, busied himself looking through Rashef’s wares again, but nothing jumped out at him. From what he remembered of Satiah, it didn’t seem she favored jewelry or finery. And yet, if Ibi had suggested this place, Atem figured it must contain some common feminine appeal. The thoughts clashed in his brain, confusing him. He reminded himself to be careful about comparing the two women — while he enjoyed spending time with Ibi, it was unlikely she shared many significant traits with his wife-to-be. 

Suddenly, the impermanence of his relationship with Ibi came into stark focus. In just a few day’s time, he would be forced to sever ties with this charming, vibrant woman, and instead devote himself to someone completely new — someone who was, understandably, doubtful to be as affectionate and warm as Ibi.

“Oh, Atem.”

He was drawn from his thoughts at the sound of Ibi’s whimsical voice. Turning, he came to stand over her shoulder, looking down at what she had found. An intricate box sat wedged in the corner of a shelf, and Ibi removed its top to reveal the contents: shiny red silks cradled a beautiful chain headdress, its intricate links fanned out into a halo around the perimeter of the box. Ibi ran her fingers along the threads of gold, but Atem’s eyes were drawn to the center of the box, where another trinket sat trapped between folds of silk. 

He pulled the fabric away, exposing a breathtaking ivory comb. It had long, delicate tines, each one evenly spaced from the next, coming to sharp and distinct points. But the handle of the comb was even more complex: carved into the sturdy ivory was a lioness head, its deep-set eyes staring straight through Atem’s soul. The lioness’s mouth formed the handle of the comb, with its two sharp fangs jutting out on either side.

“Sekhmet,” Atem whispered, tracing his hands along the comb. He and Ibi exchanged knowing smiles, until Rashef suddenly shuffled over to see what had drawn their attention.

“Ah, you found it!” he said, his beady eyes lighting up. “This, dear prince, was one of my rarest finds. This headdress was once worn by Sitra, the legendary High Priestess of Sekhmet. Sitra was said to have served as personal guard and military commander under Pharaoh Khufu. She defended the Giza complex against invaders while her king built his tomb beneath the Great Pyramid.” 

Atem listened skeptically as Rashef spoke. He knew well the legends of the Giza Pyramids, but he had never heard this tale before. Regardless of the artifact’s authenticity, however, it was undoubtedly beautiful and exceptionally well-made. And, having seen Satiah’s  _ ka _ and its patronage to Sekhmet, this seemed like a most appropriate gift for her.

“I’ll take it,” he said definitively.

Rashef clapped his hands together in excitement. “A wise choice, my prince — a wise choice indeed. That’ll be fifty gold pieces.”

Atem took a pouch of money from his belt and handed it to Rashef. “I trust you can do the accounting,” he said. 

Rashef nodded, taking the pouch over to a clean shelf and spilling out the contents. He grinned as he counted out each piece.

Atem turned back to Ibi, who was still staring longingly down at the headdress. He picked it up by either side, the waterfall of links swaying gently back and forth. He held it out to her. “Would you like to try it on?” After Ibi gave him a puzzled glance, he added: “Just so I can see how it looks.”

Apprehensively, Ibi took the halo of gold in her hands, lifting it up and placing it down on the crown of her head. She ran her fingers along the dangling threads of gold, arranging each piece to her liking, then turned and smiled at Atem.

In a moment that should have set his heart alight, Atem was left feeling suddenly empty. For even though it looked as if the headdress were made for Ibi, it would soon grace the crown of another. He forced himself to return her shining smile.

“Perfect.”


	9. Teach

Atem felt strange finding himself in the prayer hall for the third time in one week, and stranger still when he thought about why he was there this time: Shimon had roused him early in the morning, eager to conduct a “rehearsal” of the wedding ritual ahead of the real thing. Atem thought it was a bit premature, seeing as how it was still three days before Satiah would arrive, and another three more before they would be married. But when Atem saw the shine of excitement in the old man’s eyes, he simply couldn’t say no — Shimon had been teacher and mentor to both princes since their birth, so life events and traditions like this were important to him. Besides — the prayer hall was becoming a favorite haunt of Atem’s in recent days, and he couldn’t pass up a chance to pay Ibi an unscheduled visit.

While Shimon busied himself explaining in excruciating detail how and when and at what exact speed he should enter the prayer hall at the start of the ceremony, Atem peered down each aisle they passed, looking for any sign of Ibi. A clouded sky above made it much darker than normal inside, and with it being so early, not many candles had been lit beneath the statues yet. They passed the shrine of Sekhmet, and Atem smiled in reminiscence; he closed his eyes, he saw the dazzling smile Ibi had given him when she donned the headdress. In his mind he heard her laughter floating through the air like a bird’s song.

Atem froze when, just then, Ibi’s voice truly  _ did _ reach his ears. It was not the cheerful chorus he was used to hearing, however — but rather a sharp dissonance of anger and hurt, clamoring over the words of another. He snapped his head toward the source, having to squint through the darkness down an aisle of statues to barely make out Ibi’s form against a weakly flickering candle. She was standing face to face with a man dressed in priestly attire, and both were gesticulating wildly at one another. 

The sight caused Atem’s stomach to turn. It was uncanny to see Ibi so angry — like witnessing the Nile run dry. He strained his ears to make out what she and the priest were arguing about, but their words were garbled, swallowed by the cavernous darkness. It felt like time was slowing to a stop as he watched, until the priest finally threw his arms up and spun around, disappearing behind a nearby statue. As if she felt his presence, Ibi turned and met Atem’s eyes. Instantly, he felt as though an arrow had pierced his heart. She offered no smile, no calm reassurance in her gaze — just the remnants of her sobering anger.

“Atem!”

Shimon’s voice invaded his thoughts and dragged his attention back down the aisle he had been walking just a moment before. The vizier was ahead of him by several paces now, looking perturbed. Atem ignored him and looked back into the darkness, just in time to see Ibi storming off in the opposite direction.

“Are you even paying attention?” Shimon hissed, marching back to where Atem stood.

“Sorry,” Atem muttered, blinking and turning to look at his mentor.

Shimon sighed and put his hands on his hips. “You seem distracted, my prince,” he said. “Is there something on your mind?”

“Just … nervous about the ceremony.”

Shimon gave him a pitying look. “Don’t be silly. You’ll do fine,” he said, patting Atem on the shoulder. “That is, if you listen to my instructions and remember your marks!”

Atem forced a smile and followed Shimon as he continued down the pathway, muttering about offerings and incense and prayers. But Atem’s mind was already gone again, drifting back to Ibi’s bristling glare, trying to imagine what could have caused her such angst. The most plausible answer was that it was just a quarrel between employer and worker — the priests oversaw the maintenance and upkeep of the prayer hall, after all. But there was something in her eyes, in the venomous tone of her voice, that told him it was something deeper.

Atem muddled through the rest of Shimon’s rehearsal, trying his best to commit the actions and words to memory. By the time they’d left the prayer hall, he’d already forgotten half of it, his mind already full to the brim with grim thoughts and metaphorical realities. He was silent the entire walk back to the palace, only speaking when Shimon addressed him. As they crossed through the first pylon and entered the palace courtyard, Atem stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Shimon wearing a worried look.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else troubling you, my prince?”

Atem stared at his dear friend and mentor. He felt a sudden urge to spill the truth — to tell Shimon everything that had happened in the past week, and everything he feared would happen in the future. He was sure if he was honest with Shimon, the vizier would not pass judgement. It would feel good, he knew, to get everything off his chest and hear some words of wisdom in return.

Atem opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden blur of movement from the doorway to the palace made him stop short. He looked up, meeting eyes with Mana. She seemed stunned, as if she’d just been hit with a freezing spell, and Atem felt the same ripple of fear as he had in the prayer hall. Just as it was strange to see Ibi angry, it was equally uncanny to see Mana so fearful. She blinked, broke her gaze, then dashed off across the courtyard in the opposite direction. A moment later, Isis emerged from the same door, looking equally grave.

Isis cleared her throat, then strode in their direction. “Prince Atem.” The waver in her voice did nothing to quell Atem’s fears. “Your father would like to speak with you in the throne room.”

Atem turned his eyes down to Shimon, who looked as if he’d already heard all the words Atem had been preparing to speak just a moment before. The vizier gave him a reassuring smile, then patted him on the shoulder.

Isis swept her arm out toward the doorway she’d come from, and Atem fell into step beside her. As they entered the palace, Isis kept her eyes straight ahead, only returning Atem’s gaze when they reached the door to the throne room. She looked as if she were about to say something, but she only managed to purse her lips a few times before another presence drew her attention away. Mahad had just emerged from the shadows, Tefnak in tow.

Atem felt his heart start to throb in his throat as he looked at his brother’s ghost-white face. Everything was starting to add up now, and guilt was soon tumbling around in his stomach like a knife. Mahad and Isis looked at one another, then nodded to their princes before disappearing down the dark hall beyond.

Atem didn’t even have time to say a word to his brother before the doors to the throne room were thrown open by the guards. He and Tef exchanged nervous glances before stepping inside the yawning chamber.

The countless eyes painted on the walls seemed to follow their every step down the long walk to the throne, but the ones that pierced Atem the most were directly ahead — his father’s, the Pharaoh’s — dark and judging, as if they belonged to Anubis himself. When he and Tefnak came to the bottom of the throne, they both bowed deeply in time, neither one seeming to muster the courage to meet their father’s gaze.

“Atem.”

The Pharaoh’s voice cracked like thunder across the ceiling, and Atem had no choice but to turn his head up.

“I’ve been alerted to your surreptitious activities with the servant girl. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Atem suddenly felt as small as a flea, and he knew there was no lie he could tell that his father would believe. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said, lowering his eyes again.

“I am  _ extremely _ disappointed in you,” the Pharaoh continued, his voice heavy. “I never would have expected such impropriety from you. And less than a  _ week _ from your own wedding.” His father was having trouble keeping his words steady, and it skewered Atem with guilt. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Atem was surprised when Tef suddenly spoke up. “Father, you cannot lay the blame solely at Atem’s feet,” he said. “I was the one who arranged the affair.”

“I am well aware of your misdeeds, Tefnak,” the Pharaoh shot back. “What sort of example does this vulgar behavior set for your brother? Or worse, your own son?”

Tef looked as though he’d been struck in the gut, his eyes going wide with guiltful revelation. 

“Nevertheless, your willingness to shoulder accountability does little to absolve your brother of his own,” their Father continued. “Both of you have failed to conduct yourselves in a manner befitting of your titles. When I heard you’d gone to the market dressed as a commoner, Atem, I couldn’t believe it. Thank the gods it was only Mana who saw you. If she hadn’t come to me, your foolish actions could have very well jeopardized our alliance with Memphis.”

Atem stared at his feet. He feared if he looked up, tears might well into his eyes. “I beg your forgiveness, Father,” he said. “I accept whatever consequences you see fit to impose upon me.”

“You will be sequestered to the palace until after your wedding,” the Pharaoh decreed. “And as for the servant girl — she will be dismissed from her post at the temple.”

Atem looked up, still fighting tears. “No, Father — please, you mustn’t — Ibi — she’s done nothing wrong—”

“It is already done.”

Atem’s shame suddenly turned to burning anger. “Father, why must you always punish those who are least deserving of it?!”

“That’s enough.” The Pharaoh gripped tightly to the clawed arms of his throne. “I will not have my judgment questioned. If the servant girl suffers, it will be because of  _ your _ actions — not mine.”

Atem clenched his jaw hard enough that he could hear the blood rushing through his temple. He stared at his father for what seemed like an eternity, until finally the Pharaoh sat back and waved his arm.

“You’re dismissed. Both of you.”

The words hadn’t even reached his ears before Atem whirled around and stormed back down the aisle, turning his back on the judgment handed down by his father and king.

* * *

As darkness fell, Atem paced urgently between the windows in his bedchamber. He hadn’t left the room all day, having skipped his meals and denied any visitors. The pangs of hunger and isolation drove him even deeper into resentment over his father’s punishment, leading him to hatch a particularly ill-advised plan: he had sent his  _ ka _ to fetch Mahad in secret, with the hope his friend could help him find out how to get in contact with Ibi.

Even in his indignant state, Atem knew it was foolish to try and see her again. But no matter how much shame he’d felt in the presence of his father, he knew he’d feel it tenfold if he let Ibi go on thinking he had wished this fate upon her. There were so many words he’d left unsaid at their last encounter — so many feelings he hadn’t known how to convey. This plan would likely be his last hope to confess them to her before being torn away from her forever.

Atem stood bolt upright when a knock came at his door. “Come in,” he hissed. The door cracked open, and Atem let out a sigh of relief to see Mahad slipping quietly through the gap. “You made it,” he said, sweeping over to meet his friend.

Mahad eased the door closed, then turned, looking worried. “I came as quickly as I could, my prince. What is it you need?”

“My friend, you know I would not send for you unless it was urgent,” Atem explained, trying his best to appeal to Mahad’s integrity. “You mustn’t think less of me for what I’m about to ask. But … the servant girl — Ibi. I simply must see her again.”

Mahad’s face grew taut with unease. Even still, Atem could sense the conflict in his friend’s eyes, torn between duty to his king and loyalty to his lifelong friend. “My prince… I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

“Please,” Atem urged. “You may not believe me, but my intentions in this are pure. I wish only to apologize for the injury I have done to her.”

“Would it not be more prudent to convey your feelings by letter?” Mahad whispered.

Atem exhaled sharply. “I would not risk such sentiments being written down,” he said. “Please. You must know something — anything — about where I can reach her.”

Mahad wore every emotion on his face in the span of a moment — sympathy, distress, reproach, candor. He took a deep breath to strengthen his resolve, then snapped his fingers. With a short  _ pop _ , the Magician of Illusion appeared between them.

Mahad pulled the door open behind him, then turned to his  _ ka _ . “Cast a concealment charm down the hall and out the western stairwell.” The Magician nodded, then floated through the open door and disappeared. When Mahad turned back, Atem felt his heart soar. “Go down the hall, through the servant’s quarters and out to the river,” Mahad explained. “Follow the banks until you reach the docks. But hurry, her ship is bound for Akhetaten. She may already be gone.”

Atem couldn’t help himself. He surged forward and hugged Mahad, patting him earnestly on the back. “Thank you,” he breathed, pulling away. “You are a true and loyal friend.”

Mahad fought a smile and stood aside. “Go!”

Atem obeyed, dashing out of his room without another thought. The hall seemed darker than usual, and as he sped toward the first junction, he trotted to a stop. Two guards were standing at the crossing between the royal living quarters and the servant’s wing. They looked strangely blurred and distorted — the Magician’s spell, Atem thought. He’d never seen this one in action before. Slowly, he crept past the guards, astonished by their inability to see or hear him.

When he was well beyond even their natural sight, Atem broke back into a run, dashing through the servant’s quarters and down the stairwell into the laundry area. Several servants were still hard at work washing clothes and linens, but they, too, paid him no mind as he skittered between the clotheslines and passed through the western gate. Thankfully, the path down to the river was a straight shot — Atem panted as he raced to the edge of the Nile, then cut south and followed its banks to the nearest wharf. He slowed when he approached the stairs up to the dock, having enough forethought to throw his hood up over his head to at least partially conceal his identity. He trotted, huffing, up to the nearest dock worker, who was hunched over tying a skiff to the dock.

“Akhetaten,” he wheezed. “Where is the ship bound for Akhetaten?”

The worker looked vexed at being disturbed, but he turned and pointed down the wharf to the third and largest of the docks. Atem thanked him, then sped off down the busy boardwalk. He weaved between workers and travelers, standing on his toes to try and get a glimpse of Ibi, but to no avail. Cursing, he jumped up on a post off the side of the path, squinting into the hazy darkness, until, at last, he spotted Ibi’s familiar traveling cloak amongst the flow of bodies. He hopped down off the post and rushed up behind her.

“Ibi!” he called, causing her to spin around. Her face flashed with shock upon seeing him, then settled into dismay as he came within arm’s reach.

“Atem,” she hissed, “what are you—”

She stopped when Atem reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her against the flow of people boarding the ship and down toward the shore.

“Atem, stop—”

But he kept going, stepping off the ramp and leading her around beneath it, where he turned and removed his hood.

With her hand now free, she shoved him backward. “How  _ dare  _ you,” she hissed.

“Ibi, you can’t imagine how sorry I am—”

“I don’t want your apologies, Atem.” The tone of her voice was surprisingly even, to the point where Atem couldn’t decipher what she  _ did _ want.

“You have to believe me,” he said. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Well it doesn’t matter, because it  _ did _ happen. And now it’s over.”

Atem felt all the wind leave his lungs, as if he’d been struck in the gut. The finality of her words had come far too soon — the feelings that had been thrashing in his heart all day were now slipping away, fluttering through his fingers like a butterfly eager to be free.

“I don’t want it to be over,” he said. “I… I think I’m in love with you.”

Ibi let slip a small laugh. “No, you aren’t,” she said. “You don’t know what love is yet. You’re just a boy. A sweet, kind boy. And I took advantage of you.”

Atem still could not find his breath. He stared into her quicksand eyes, letting them slowly consume him. “Then stay,” he said, his voice nearly breaking. “Stay — and  _ teach _ me how to love.”

“Oh, Atem,” she said, reaching out and touching his cheek in a way that was almost motherly. “Such a lesson is not for me to teach.” She took her hand away, and Atem had to fight the urge to reach out and grasp it. “You already have everything you need. You have a good heart. You were better to me than I deserved. You will make your wife very happy, and you won’t even have to try.”

The words felt like puzzle pieces in his mind, scrambled beyond comprehension. Just a few days ago, Atem didn’t even know if he was capable of love. And now, it seemed the only thing he was sure of. But Ibi had made it seem as though he were lying to himself — a lie he didn’t even know he was telling.

Ibi smiled, then leaned in and placed a kiss on his cheek. Just this small show of affection sent warmth flowing back into him, even though he knew it wouldn’t last.

“Goodbye, my prince,” she said. Still smiling, she turned and walked away, back up the dock and out of sight.

Atem didn’t have the heart to watch her board the ship. Instead, he turned and walked up the steep bank nearby, sinking down to sit on a soft dune. From this distance, the throng of people on the dock seemed no more than a black, shifting mass, blending into the rushing current of the Nile. For hours, he sat and watched the ships coming in and out, bearing the joy and hope and dreams of all those aboard.


	10. Formalities

Even with the wind whipping through her hair and fresh air in her lungs, Satiah could not bring herself to feel joy. She had always loved traveling by boat, drinking in the sun’s rays on the top deck while the world around her slowly drifted by — but today, no such amusements could lift what was left of her spirits. The final hours of their journey to Thebes were winding down, and with it would come the inevitable arrival of a future beyond her control.

As the ship curved around the bend of Iunet, the shining city of Thebes came into view. The royal palace rose above the bustling city like a mountain, its enormous pylons flashing nearly white in the late afternoon sun. Satiah couldn’t bear to look at it for more than a few moments, so she crossed the ship to the western side, leaning against the railing to watch the Thebes necropolis crawl past. The ship lazed by Hatshepsut’s impressive mortuary temple, which was bustling with visitors and workers alike. Further on, the village of Set-Ma’at lay perched in the nearby foothills, guarding the entrance to the Valley of the Kings itself. Smoke from the villagers’ homes floated up like white, hazy fingers, climbing the outcroppings in search of Ra’s light. The sun was just now moving behind the ridgeline, casting long, triangular shadows down the mountainside to mark where each of the workers’ own tombs sat nestled between the rocks.

Satiah traced her eyes along the winding roads to the top of the ridge, and she wondered whether she would be buried in the Valley along with her husband, or if she would end up entombed beside her mother and brother back in the Memphis necropolis — yet another aspect of her future that was clouded by uncertainty. 

As Satiah contemplated the fate of her earthly body, her father came up beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She looked up and smiled at him, prompting him to give her a light squeeze. “Pondering the afterlife, my dear?” he said in a joking tone.

Satiah smiled wider. “Maybe,” she said. “How long until we arrive?”

“At death’s door? Who knows.” Metjen laughed heartily when Satiah rolled her eyes. “But if you mean Thebes, we should be docking any minute now.”

“I can hardly wait,” Satiah said wryly. “What do the royals have planned for us this evening?”

Her father made a nervous sound. “Oh, you know, this and that. Introductions, awkward small talk.” Satiah lowered her brow in suspicion. “And if I remember, the prince requested an hour or two of time alone with you as well.”

“What?!” Satiah stood up straight, causing her father to release his hold on her. “And you’re just now telling me this?”

Metjen’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, Sati, it must have slipped my mind.”

“I can’t believe you agreed to that without consulting me,” Satiah hissed, crossing her arms.

“My dear, neither of us is in a position to be refusing a royal request right now,” her father chided. “Besides, the boy is harmless. I’m sure he just wants to take you on a tour of the palace. Can you blame him for wanting to have a conversation with his betrothed before he’s married to her?”

“What for? It’s not like it’ll make any difference. Speak now, speak later — we’re still chained to each other for the rest of our lives.”

Metjen’s face set with a fatherly look. “Now, Sati, you mustn’t look at this like a death sentence,” he said. “I know you never much cared for the idea of marriage — and to be honest, I was prepared to go to my grave without you ever settling down — but there is great honor in what you are about to do. You will sit at the right hand of the prince. That is the most powerful position you could have ever hoped for.”

“I don’t care about power either,” Satiah shot back.

“Then you’re not as smart as I thought you were,” her father said. “Think what can be done with such power — what rules can be changed and traditions refashioned.” Satiah turned her face away, considering the words. “Do you remember what you said, back before all this misfortune took place? You said you wanted to bring the Pharaoh back to the way of the light. What better way to achieve that than through his own son?”

Satiah knew her father was right. But even if she would be granted great power in her new position, she still felt woefully unequipped to wield it — especially without the strength and security of her  _ ka _ behind her.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the ship suddenly slowed, causing Satiah to reach out and steady herself against the railing. Gradually, the vessel shifted its course east, heading for a large stone wharf at the foot of the royal palace. Satiah and her father both crossed to the other side of the ship in preparation to disembark, and as they did, Satiah caught sight of the Sacred Guardian Aknadin emerging from below deck. She had almost forgotten that the High Priest had joined them on their journey — she’d only seen him three times in as many days since they left Memphis. Why Aknadin felt the need to come be witness to her wedding, Satiah couldn’t fathom. Perhaps the Pharaoh simply wanted all seven Millennium Items in one location, as some sort of intimidation tactic meant for her and her father. 

As he stepped onto the top deck, Aknadin shifted his gaze to Satiah; she gave his one human eye a flinty glare in return. A moment later, he was joined by a tall young man with brown hair and eyes as deep as the Nile. He was dressed in blue priest’s robes and wore a cylindrical hat in a similar shade. Standing side by side, Satiah thought he and the High Priest looked like shadows of one another — the same brooding faces, the same proud postures. The young man looked vaguely familiar to Satiah in his own right, but she couldn’t put her finger on why.

Her inspection of the man was interrupted when the ship eased to a stop beside the wharf, and Satiah turned her eyes to the stone stairway leading up to the palace. A handful of royal servants were standing on the lowest platform, ready to assist with unloading their cargo. Further up the stairs, the royals themselves stood in a neatly formed line. Satiah could just barely make out the silhouette of her intended standing at the end of the row. On the landing behind them was another cluster of figures — the rest of the court, she presumed.

Commanding shouts brought her eyes back to the ship, where sailors were sliding the disembarking platform into place between the deck and the wharf. After it was secured, the royal servants rushed up and headed below deck to start the unloading process.

Taking this as their cue to disembark, Satiah and her father made their way down the platform to the wharf, followed soon after by Aknadin and the brown-haired priest. They walked, in two separate groups, up to the second landing, where the Pharaoh greeted them with a stilted smile.

When Satiah and Metjen came within reach of their king, they both bowed fully from the waist. Aknamkanon held his arms out as they straightened up, and Satiah was surprised when he suddenly stepped forward and embraced her father.

“Welcome to Thebes, envoys of Memphis,” Aknamkanon said, releasing Metjen and turning to Satiah now. “Your presence has been eagerly anticipated.” The king closed his arms around her and gave her a tight squeeze, and Satiah felt a shiver of mortifying awkwardness ripple down her spine. She managed to force a humbled smile when he pulled away, though she was sure her ears must be as red as coals.

The Pharaoh swept his arm to his side. “As I’m sure you remember, this is my oldest son, Tefnak.” 

Satiah turned her eyes to the left, where the crown prince stood as rigid and featureless as a statue. He offered her no smile (and thankfully, no hug), but he nodded stiffly in greeting. Satiah returned it with another full bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my prince,” she said, in her best impression of a debutante.

“Likewise,” he said flatly, then gestured to his right. “This is my wife, Nebetah, and my son, Meriti.”

Satiah turned her attention to the two figures standing beside the prince. Tefnak’s wife was infinitely warmer than he was, her smiling face all dimples and cheekbones. She had striking blue eyes, contrasting her rich skin and halo of tight black curls.

“Welcome to the capital, my lady,” Nebetah said. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on Satiah’s cheek, bringing the burn back to her ears. “Meriti, say hello to Lady Satiah. She will be your auntie soon.”

Satiah looked down, where an adorable little boy stood entangled between Nebetah’s legs. He had his father’s brindled hair — which was woven into a braided sidelock — and his mother’s glowing skin. His cheeks were flushed bright red, his chin tucked bashfully down against his chest. His mother shook his shoulder in encouragement, but all the child could manage to get out was a meek whine. Satiah was surprised when a genuine smile came to her lips.

“Sorry — he’s a little shy,” Nebetah explained. Satiah simply nodded in understanding.

The sound of a throat being cleared brought her eyes further to the left, where her betrothed stood, less stiff than his brother but not quite as proud as his father. She recognized him instantly from his crown of thick, wild hair — an unusual style, but one which Satiah thought fit him nicely. Though he fidgeted a bit and avoided her gaze while she moved to stand directly in front of him, she found herself intrigued by the unexpected tranquility in his violet eyes when he finally lifted them up.

As with the other royals, she bowed before him, and when she straightened, he cleared his throat again. “My lady, it’s wonderful to finally meet you face to face,” he said. Much like his eyes, his steady voice betrayed the slight disquiet in his features. “I hope you feel welcome in our home.”

Satiah’s lips twitched up into a brief smile. A curt “thank you” was all she could muster.

In the tense silence that followed, Satiah picked up pieces of the other greetings taking place, including her father’s eager attempts at getting Meriti to talk to him. Atem’s hand twitched, and for a moment Satiah thought he might try to embrace her, but he simply swept his arm out instead, gesturing to the group standing on the landing behind him.

“May I introduce you to the rest of the royal court?” he suggested. Satiah nodded, and Atem looked relieved as he turned to lead the way up the stairs. While they walked, Satiah heard Aknadin speaking with the Pharaoh. He introduced his traveling companion as Seto, and the name finally set off a glimmer of remembrance in her mind. Back before they’d severed ties with the crown, the Memphis Conclave was considering sending a troupe of apprentice spellcasters to Thebes to study under the High Priests and Sacred Guardians. Seto had been one of the most promising sorcerers in the group, having risen from poverty to prove himself in the presence of the Conclave. After the uprising took root, the apprentices were forced to return to studying under various priests throughout Ineb-Hedj. Aknadin must have stumbled across Seto while appraising the magical talent across the region.

“Seto has proven himself a strong and capable spellcaster,” Aknadin said to the king. “He will make a very worthy steward of the Millennium Rod.”

Satiah, distracted by the conversation, almost ran into Atem’s back when he came to a stop on the next landing. She moved to stand beside him and offered another forced smile to the rest of the court.

“Satiah, this is Shimon, chief vizier to the Pharaoh and Guardian of the Millennium Key.” Atem gestured to a short elderly man, who smiled and bowed his head upon being addressed. “This is Isis, Guardian of the Necklace.” He swept his arm out to a slim, dark-haired woman, who bore the gold Necklace around her throat. “And Karim, Guardian of the Scales.” A tall, muscular man with a short black wig gave a curt bow, and the Scales in his hand jangled softly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she said, lowering her head in the direction of the Sacred Guardians. “Thank you for the warm welcome.”

Satiah felt strange being encircled by all these mystical Items and their royal possessors. She thought being this close to them, she’d be able to  _ feel _ their power — that they might be radiating black auras as if possessed by shadows. But there was nothing, not even a whisper of darkness from either the totems or their wielders — just the slight awkwardness of repartee between new acquaintances.

A moment later, Satiah’s father climbed the stairs and came to stand before her and Atem. Metjen bowed, then offered his hand to the prince, who shook it with a slight grimace.

“Prince Atem,” Metjen said. “It is an honor to meet the man who will soon marry my daughter. I have utmost certainty that you will treat her well.”

Atem released Metjen’s hand and nodded nervously. “With your permission, sir, I would very much like to escort Satiah on a tour of the palace.”

Satiah could feel her ears burning again as Metjen tried to conceal an amused smile. “Of course, my prince.” He turned to Satiah, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Go and enjoy this lovely day, Sati. I’ll see you later this evening.” 

Metjen excused himself to greet the remainder of the royal court. Atem gestured toward the top of the stairs, then set off up them. Satiah followed, making sure to sneak one last look of daggers at her father as she passed him; he winked in return.

At the top of the stairs, they passed through the pylons and into an extensive courtyard that was criss-crossed with a labyrinth of raised flower beds and trees. “These are the royal gardens,” Atem explained, leading the way down a row of plants. “They say the oldest trees here were planted by Ramesses himself.”

Satiah raised her eyebrows in feigned interest, though she  _ was _ quite impressed with the flora and fauna. A welcome silence fell over them as they walked, allowing Satiah to watch birds flitting from tree to tree and insects buzzing around blooming flowers. On their way toward the palace proper, they passed a vast rectangular pond, almost lake-like in size. It was filled to the brim with lotus blossoms and had its own stock of fish swimming between the roots and lily pads. As they reached the corner of the pond, Atem stopped.

“The Sacred Lake,” he said. “Here is where we will perform the ritual spreading of sands before making our way to the temple.”

With this nettlesome reminder of their upcoming wedding, Satiah looked at Atem. Over his shoulder was a gate built into the wall of the courtyard, through which she glimpsed the city of Thebes beyond. A raised promenade stretched northwest across the city, connecting the palace to another impressive structure on the horizon. Karnak, Satiah surmised — the place where they would soon make their lifelong pledge before the gods. It would be a long and arduous day, one with many formalities and liturgies. Satiah found it odd how much esteem was given to a royal wedding, when such a union anywhere else in Egypt would be considered almost mundane.

After a brief pause to enjoy the view, the prince resumed his meandering tour of the royal residence and its grounds. Inside, they stopped over at the great hall, where servants were preparing for a dinner feast; they then briefly visited the library and passed by the throne room on the way to the royal living quarters. To Satiah’s relief, the prince spoke very little — only enough to explain the purpose of a certain room or area before returning to pensive silence.

Though the residential wing was also filled with servants, these ones working to set up accommodations for the new visitors, Atem managed to clear them out long enough for Satiah to get a look inside the room that had been set aside for her. It was large and well-appointed, as she expected, and had one adjoining suite for her father and one for her handmaiden. 

She crossed the room and looked out one of the windows, greeted with a lovely view of the sunset reflecting off the Nile. If it weren’t for the fine linens, fancy window treatments, and ornate furniture, Satiah might have thought she was back in her own room in Memphis. As she looked out over the gardens, she reminded herself yet again that this setup would only be temporary.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Atem inhaling sharply. “Well, the ceremony should be starting any moment. Shall we go down?”

Satiah gave him a perplexed look. “Ceremony?”

Atem raised his eyebrows. “Aknadin didn’t tell you?” he said. Satiah cocked her head in confusion, causing him to grimace. “A month ago, Imhotep, the Guardian of the Millennium Rod, passed away from pneumonia,” he explained. “Aknadin brought with him an initiate priest — Seto — to take up Imhotep’s mantle. Seto is to take part in the initiation ceremony tonight.”

Satiah sighed in frustration. Surely her father must have known about this detail, and yet again forgot to mention it to her.

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew,” Atem said. “You don’t have to attend if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s fine,” Satiah said quickly, although the prospect of seeing the Items in action was still a bit troubling to her. “Let’s go.”

Atem looked hesitant, but he turned and led the way back through the living quarters and toward the throne room again. Spectators, mainly members of the court and other lesser priests, were already streaming into the main entrance. Once inside, Atem weaved his way toward where the rest of his family stood clustered on the dais where the throne sat. Satiah let her eyes roam over the room as she followed, mesmerized by the sheer size and vastness of it. The throne itself looked small in comparison, she thought, but as they drew closer, she was able to appreciate all the intricate details and artistry in its construction — the sweeping backrest topped with a glinting sun disk, the lion-headed armrests, running down to four clawed legs.

She and Atem climbed the stairs to the dais, where several other chairs had been lined neatly in two rows on either side of the throne. Some attendants were already sitting, such as her father, who had happily found a seat beside Nebetah and Meriti in the second row. Metjen was trying to amuse Meriti again — a bittersweet sight that for a moment distracted Satiah from the looming weight of what was to come.

Atem reclined in the chair directly to the left of the throne, then gestured to the open seat beside him. Satiah obliged. When she looked out at the throne room again, a sudden anxiousness washed over her. Dozens of priests and spectators had their eyes turned toward the dais, and it seemed like every single person was staring straight at her. It felt surreal, almost obscene, that she now found herself sitting two seats away from the most powerful man in Egypt, especially when mere weeks ago, she and her family had been clustered together in secret, all but cursing the king’s name.

As if he had somehow sensed her thoughts, the Pharaoh crossed the dais to stand in front of his throne. This prompted a waterfall of activity — the Sacred Guardians all found their own seats, and the standing spectators began migrating to the perimeter of the room. It took Satiah only a moment to realize the void they left behind had the distinct oblong shape of a dueling arena. 

The Pharaoh then raised his right hand, and a hushed stillness fell over the crowd. “We gather here today to witness the Initiation Ceremony, during which Seto of Saqqara will demonstrate to us his worthiness to inherit the Millennium Rod.” The Pharaoh gestured to the right-hand side of the room, where two guards threw open a set of doors, revealing the dark-haired priest, the Millennium Rod already clutched in his hand. Seto strode into the throne room, his chest puffed out in pride. He stopped just inside the line of spectators, then looked toward the dais and nodded. 

The Pharaoh lifted his left hand in gesture toward the other side of the room, where another set of guards opened the doors there, then disappeared inside them. They emerged a moment later to the tune of jangling chains, and Satiah had to squint to catch a glimpse of a very terrified looking man trapped in the guards’ clutches. They dragged the prisoner through the line of spectators, then threw him roughly down into the arena opposite Seto.

Whimpering, the man scrambled to his knees and turned to face the dais. “Great Pharaoh, please have mercy on me! I do not want to lose my  _ ka! _ ”

Satiah felt her stomach begin to tie itself into nervous knots. She turned toward Atem, whose hand was raised to his chin as if in contemplation. After a moment of her staring, Atem took notice and leaned toward Satiah.

“Initiates must use their Millennium Item to summon a  _ ka _ sealed in stone, and command it in battle against one belonging to a criminal,” he explained in a low whisper. “If he defeats his opponent, Seto must then use his Rod to seal the criminal’s  _ ka _ — as is the Item’s true purpose. The final step is different for each Item, but all initiates must first prove their strength in battle.”

Satiah turned her eyes back to the prisoner, who was still pleading on his knees. The king held up his hand, silencing the man. “Heqab of Koptos, you stand accused of the high crime of plundering royal tombs. In lieu of your sentence, which mandates amputation of both hands, you will be given trial before the gods and judged by the Initiate of the Millennium Rod. Should you prevail over him, your sentence will be considered fulfilled. If you should lose, however, your  _ ka _ will be forfeit in service of this sacred ritual.”

Heqab, the prisoner, sobbed and kow-towed before the Pharaoh. “Please, my king — I beg you to reconsider. I was framed! I did not commit these acts! My  _ ka  _ is pure!”

But the Pharaoh did not concede. “Rise, Heqab, and face justice.” Aknamkanon made one last wave of his hand, then sat back on his throne. 

One of the guards trotted forward and unlocked Heqab’s chains, then retreated to the edge of the arena with the rest of the spectators. Heqab staggered to his feet, still sobbing, and faced his opponent. Across the arena, Seto smirked cruelly. He raised the Millennium Rod high above his head and shouted: “I call on the mighty Battle Ox!”

A sound like a thunderbolt shook the arena, followed by a flash of light that streamed down through the ceiling of the throne room and enveloped the priest. The light flickered outward, and in its wake appeared a hulking, muscular beast, standing nearly two stories high and in full battle armor. Aptly named, it had the head of an ox and carried an axe whose blade looked large enough and sharp enough to cleave a man in two. The Battle Ox snorted and bared his teeth at Heqab.

“Summon your  _ ka _ , coward,” Seto called.

Whimpering, Heqab put his hands to his head in concentration. A moment later, he managed to summon forth his  _ ka: _ a strange, vaguely humanoid figure made entirely of stone. The creature was kneeling with its arms crossed over its chest, its hands resting on two protrusions coming from its shoulders. A defensive monster, Satiah thought. An interesting matchup against Seto’s bloodthirsty beast.

Seto smirked again, then pointed his finger toward his opponent. “Go, Battle Ox!”

Roaring, the Ox surged forward with his axe swung high over his shoulder. It took him only three strides to cross the length of the arena and bring his weapon down upon his foe. Satiah winced as a deep, crunching sound followed, but when she opened her eyes, Heqab’s stone soldier appeared unharmed. She looked closer to see his  _ ka _ had removed a huge sword made of rock from a slot on its shoulder and raised it to parry the Battle Ox’s attack. Heqab pumped his fist into the air and let out a triumphant cry.

“Go, Stone Soldier — counterattack!”

Satiah gripped the armrests of her chair as the Stone Soldier unsheathed a second sword from its other shoulder before winding up and thrusting it into the Battle Ox’s side. Bones cracked, and the beast let out an angry roar, then dropped back a few steps, cradling the new injury.

Satiah looked over to see the smirk gone from Seto’s face, replaced with a grimace. “Not bad, criminal,” he spat. “But let’s see if you can get lucky twice in a row.”

The priest ordered his  _ ka _ to attack again. Reeling, the Ox composed himself and dashed to strike. With both weapons now readied, the Stone Soldier looked impervious to a physical assault. Sure enough, when the Ox brought his axe down, the Soldier raised one of its hulking swords and stopped the beast in its tracks. Just like before, the Soldier lifted its other arm to strike back.

Satiah almost missed it — in the split second between the Soldier’s parry and its counterattack, the Ox shifted his grip on his own weapon, freeing one of his hands to block the Soldier’s strike. The Battle Ox grabbed hold of the Soldier’s hand at the wrist, its massive muscles flexing in resistance.

In the moments that followed, the entire arena seemed to be holding its breath. With a guttural cry, the Ox pulled hard on the Soldier’s wrist. The still air broke with a sound like mountains turning to dust, and the Soldier’s sword came crashing to the arena floor. 

What followed was a scream of pure terror from the  _ ka’s _ owner. Satiah’s blood ran cold as she realized the Ox hadn’t just disarmed the Soldier — he had literally ripped off the creature’s hand at the wrist. Satiah covered her mouth as Heqab collapsed, wailing in pain and cradling his own arm. Horrified, Satiah snapped her eyes toward Seto, who was once again wearing a sinister smile. Not content to simply defeat his opponent, Seto raised his arm and gave another order to his  _ ka _ : the rabid Battle Ox lifted his axe and lopped off the Stone Soldier’s other hand as easily as a cropper culling his wheat.

Satiah winced and looked away as the throne room filled with more of Heqab’s tortured screams. She felt her body lurching with a need to stand — to flee from the needless torment assaulting her senses. But even with her face turned away, she could feel Atem’s gaze on her, and his family’s along with it. Fighting her conscience, she looked back at the arena to see Seto striding across it. He came to stand before the defeated Stone Soldier, who had since slumped forward with its limbless arms hanging limply by its side. Behind Seto, a group of priests were grunting as they erected a huge, blank stone slab near the edge of the arena.

Heqab’s cries had since turned to pitiful whimpers, and he managed to pull himself to his knees as Seto raised the Millennium Rod. He pointed it at his conquered opponent’s  _ ka _ , and the smooth circular head of the Rod began to glow. With a fluid motion, Seto swept the Rod across his body and pointed it at the stone slab, and as if suspended by an invisible chain, the Stone Soldier followed. Eerily, it floated across the chamber, turning into a spectral version of itself, until it collided with the slab and was swallowed whole by the quiet stone sarcophagus.

Satiah felt the sting of tears as she looked upon the writhing husk of a man who lay at the priest’s feet. She remembered all too clearly the sudden, pervading feeling of emptiness upon losing one’s  _ ka  _ — a dull and morbid ache, as if one’s living body had somehow been purged of its vital organs and then painstakingly embalmed. 

Just then, two guards rushed out into the arena and took Heqab under the arms, dragging him back out of the chamber the way he’d entered. When the doors slammed shut, Aknamkanon stood and raised his arms. “The Initiate has been judged favorably by the gods. In their name, I declare Seto of Saqqara worthy to inherit the duty and power of the Millennium Rod. He will come to sit beside his king as a Sacred Guardian from this day, until death takes him. So let it be written, so let it be done.”

The chamber erupted with cheers and applause, and all around Satiah the royals and Sacred Guardians stood to praise their newest inductee. Seeing an opportunity to remove herself from the situation, Satiah slipped between the chairs toward the back of the dais. The priests turned their eyes to her, and she could hear her father hissing her name, but she ignored them all and descended the stairs, circling behind the cheering spectators and making for the exit of the throne room. There, she burst out into the quiet hall beyond, her cheeks wet with the first of what she knew would be many tears.


	11. Injustice

Satiah barely had time to compose herself before she was corralled into the great hall with the royals again. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice the lingering signs of dismay in her features, and she was careful to keep her face turned away from the prince, even as he was seated beside her at the dinner table. Her father took a seat on her other side, and the rest of the royals and priests filtered into the spots that remained. The Pharaoh sat at one head of the table, with the newly initiated Seto at the other. 

With so many in attendance — Satiah counted twelve including herself — and with the excitement of a duel still fresh in everyone’s minds, the Initiation Ceremony soon became the main subject of conversation at the table. As the food was brought out, the priests took turns recounting the battle in morbidly gleeful tones and prodding Seto for details — asking why he chose the  _ ka _ he had, or how he’d felt after Heqab’s first counterattack. Satiah found this type of vain enumeration a bit distasteful, but in truth she was glad the attention was anywhere but on her. 

Their heightened voices soon settled as many began to fill their plates and mouths with food. Satiah quietly pushed her own meal around on her plate with her spoon, avoiding eyes and questions as much as she could. It wasn’t until the priests began asking Seto about his homeland that she and her father were finally dragged into the conversation.

Karim, guardian of the Scales, caught Seto’s ear: “Saqqara is just outside Memphis, is it not? Have you ever been to the holy city, Seto?”

Seto nodded and turned his head toward Satiah and her father. “Many times,” the priest said. “I had a brief apprenticeship under High Priest Jahar, who was a high-ranking member in the Memphis Conclave at the time. Right, Nomarch—?” Seto stopped, concealed a smirk, then corrected himself: “Oh, I’m sorry. May I refer to you by your given name now, Metjen?”

Satiah felt a twinge of spite; it flickered across her father’s features as well, but he pushed through it with a smile. “Certainly, Guardian Seto,” Metjen said. “And, indeed — Jahar tutored my own children for many years. Does he still maintain his position in the Conclave, Guardian Aknadin?”

Aknadin didn’t look the least bit entertained by this attempt at casual conversation. “I am not at liberty to discuss governing activities with civilians,” he said flatly.

An awkward silence followed, in which utensils scraped loudly across plates.

“Of course,” Metjen replied. “My apologies.”

Satiah stared indignantly across the table at Aknadin, her hand curling into a fist around the stem of her goblet. Atem must have taken notice, as he placed his fingers across the rim of the cup, drawing Satiah’s eyes away from the priest.

“Would you care for more wine, Satiah?” His voice was low enough to seem innocuous, and it succeeded in easing the tension at the table. While the others carried on discussing new topics, Satiah looked hard at the prince, trying to decipher the intent in his veiled eyes. His hand continued to rest idly on her glass, until she finally released it.

“No, thank you,” she said quietly. “In fact, I’m feeling a bit fatigued. I think I may retire to my room for the evening — if it please the prince.”

Atem didn’t respond right away. Eventually, he, too, released his hold on the cup and diverted his eyes. “Of course.”

Satiah bowed her head lightly to Atem, then turned to address the other royals. “Thank you for your kind hospitality today, your highness,” she said to Aknamkanon. “I apologize for my early departure — I am quite weary from the long journey.”

The king smiled and made an empathetic gesture. “I understand completely,” he said. “Please, let the servants know if you need anything.”

She whispered a “thank you,” then stood discretely and bid goodnight to her father. As she turned to leave, Atem grabbed her lightly by the wrist, stopping her short.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked quietly.

Satiah flashed a smile, and the prince loosened his grip enough for her to pull her hand away. “You know where to find me.” With another slight bow, Satiah turned and swept down the length of the table, avoiding a few judging eyes as she made for the exit.

Once back in the relative privacy of the hall, Satiah could feel the anger bubbling in her veins again. She was ashamed at how willingly her father had submitted to ridicule, but it took just a moment of seething for her to realize he had only done it for her sake. With no power, no title, and no  _ ka _ , Metjen was hardly more than a commoner to these people. To speak against them would be tantamount to treason, and while Satiah was protected by virtue of her betrothal, her father would be afforded no such luxuries. Still, it pained her to see him being disrespected so blatantly by men who had once been nearly his equals. Even more than that, the idea of spending a lifetime cooped up with them was beyond maddening.

As she stalked down flickering halls, going nowhere in particular, Satiah’s thoughts were drawn back to the prince — and his uninvited intervention. She knew he’d done the right thing in diffusing the tension before she could unleash the venom on the tip of her tongue, but it almost felt unfair — as if he’d robbed her of a last chance to make her true voice heard. Satiah had little patience for men who tolerated injustices, and this one seemed to cut her particularly deep.

When moonlight struck her face, Satiah finally stopped walking and looked at her surroundings. She was standing in a narrow hallway flanked with windows. On one side, the windows overlooked a small courtyard, in which Satiah spied dark shadows moving in the silver light. Peering closer, she recognized three distinct forms: two soldiers, and a slumped figure between them. Heqab, Satiah thought — the tribute from the Initiation Ceremony. The guards were dragging the prisoner from one side of the courtyard to an open gate on the other. Craning her neck, Satiah watched as the soldiers pushed Heqab roughly beyond the walls of the palace.

“Begone with you, criminal!” one of the guards shouted.

The other one spit at the dejected prisoner, then laughed and turned to his partner. “Come, brother, if we’re quick we might be able to scrounge some leftovers from the feast.”

Satiah felt the heat of anger flare in her stomach as the soldiers sauntered back across the courtyard and disappeared inside the palace. Swiftly, she set off further through the hallway until it came to a stair leading down into the courtyard. She followed the palace walls to the gate, and her eyes immediately fell to Heqab’s form where it lay writhing on the ground.

Without a second thought, Satiah hurried forward and bent to help him to his knees. Heqab winced away from her touch and looked up, his eyes wide and fearful. “No, please—” Fear turned to recognition as he gazed upon her face. “You! I saw you — on the dais — beside the prince! But … that must mean… You are the  _ princess! _ ”

“Not yet,” Satiah muttered, reaching out to steady his quivering shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

Heqab bent into a deep kneeling bow. “My lady, you humble me with your concern. But please, do not belittle yourself before a petty criminal such as myself.”

“Don’t be absurd,” she said, pulling him up out of his bow. “I saw how those soldiers treated you. It was utterly cruel.”

“I am one of the lucky ones,” Heqab said. “My  _ ka _ may have been taken, but I leave here with my life and limbs intact. I am grateful for that.”

“I heard your plea, before the battle,” Satiah said. “You said you were innocent. How did you come to find yourself in such a situation?”

Heqab lowered his eyes in shame. “It’s true — I did not commit the crimes with which I was charged. But still, I admit that I am not wholly innocent.” He sat back on his heels. “I did not know it then, but I helped a man break into the royal necropolis — I gave him tools and a map of the Valley of the Kings. But I swear, I did not know he was a grave robber! I thought he was a worker, just like all who come to the village of Set-Ma’at! It wasn’t until rumors began to spread of missing artifacts and defiled tombs that I suspected something was amiss. But before I knew it, soldiers were already at my door with the tools bearing my mark, left in the tunnels the thief used to make his escape.”

Satiah’s brow creased as Heqab spoke, her heart filled with a mixture of pity and anger.

“I should have known he was trouble as soon as I met him,” Heqab muttered. “A bad omen, it is, to have hair so white…”

Satiah felt a knife of shock twist in her gut. “Did you say white hair?”

Heqab looked up. “Yes,” he said. “And a demon’s smile. I think he may have been possessed by one.”

Satiah had to work hard to conceal the uncanny fear from creeping into her features. Bakura was here, and he was just across the river from them now, rooting around in the Valley of the Kings. Satiah couldn’t fathom what he might be searching for amongst the tombs of Pharaohs passed — but whatever it was, it did not bode well.

“I will speak to the prince,” Satiah said. “I’m afraid even I may not hold much sway, but this failing of justice must not go unnoticed.”

Heqab bowed his head again. “My lady, words cannot express my gratitude for your intercession. But I have accepted my sentence. If this is the punishment for my foolish trusting, then so be it.”

Satiah smiled and stood, taking the man up with her. “You are too humble, Heqab,” she said. “Not many can say they stood so bravely against a High Priest. May you go in peace with your head held high. I hope you are reunited with your spirit someday.”

* * *

Midmorning sun filtered through fluffy clouds and sent pillars of light beaming down onto the placid surface of the Nile. Atem watched from the roof of the observatory as dozens of ships floated back and forth across the glassy water, their white sails like ibises’ wings, stretched out to catch a cool breeze. If he’d had his own way, Atem would have been content to spend the rest of the week rooted to this spot, simply watching the world laze by. But soon, Ra’s light would force its way through the cloud cover and burden the pleasant day with haze and heat. Considering his first day spent with Satiah was very nearly spoiled by a variety of missteps, Atem wanted to make sure the second one wouldn’t follow the same path.

As he left the observatory tower and winded his way down the stairs to the palace again, Atem’s thoughts drifted back to the night before. He wanted to believe he had done all he could to make Satiah feel welcome, but after recounting the events more carefully, he was forced to admit his heart hadn’t truly been in it. He had been woefully distracted from the moment she arrived — his mind filled with thoughts of Ibi and her painful parting, his emotions choked out by the bitterness left behind. Atem cursed himself for expending so much mental energy on this dilemma. In doing so, he’d allowed Satiah’s arrival to feel like a punishment for losing Ibi, and this only served to diminish the dignity of both women.

Had his head been clearer the night before, he might have picked up on Satiah’s discomfort much sooner — although even in hindsight, Atem wasn’t sure what he would have done about it. Would he have been cogent enough to speak up for her at the dinner feast, or insist that the Initiation Ceremony be postponed? The answers were obvious, and this only further motivated him to do better today.

As he rounded the corner to the residential wing, Atem took a deep breath and headed straight for Satiah’s door. There, he lifted his hand and knocked on the heavy wood. A beat passed, in which he could hear her soft footfalls on the tiles, before the door slowly cracked open enough to reveal her curious gaze.

“Hello, Satiah,” he said, as steady as he could manage.

She opened the door fully, but didn’t reply.

Atem cleared his throat and continued. “Would you care to accompany me on a walk this morning?”

She raised her eyebrows, then nodded once. “Let me get my cloak.” 

She retreated from the door, leaving it open slightly, then returned a moment later with a sun-bleached cloak in her hands. She threw it over her shoulders as she crossed the threshold, then closed the door behind her and turned to Atem. 

“Lead the way,” she said.

Atem flashed a small smile, then turned and started down the hallway toward the terrace. As they emerged and descended the stairs into the garden, it struck Atem as strange that she did not ask where they were going. He let his eyes flick to her every few steps, analyzing the stoic lines of her face. She seemed deep in thought, her lips pinched downward and eyes angled low to watch each step she took.

“I hope you slept well,” Atem said offhandedly, finally summoning her gaze back to his. 

The smile she gave felt forced. “I did,” she said. “Although, I’m afraid I was plagued with strange dreams. Seeing the Millennium Items at work was … stimulating, to say the least.”

She was being careful with her words, and he knew there was more meaning behind them than she was letting on. Atem made an affirmative sound in the hopes that she would continue.

“I just can’t stop thinking … about what became of the tribute after the battle.”

Atem was surprised at this. He had expected her to ask about the Items, perhaps — or about Seto or the other Guardians. But as she paused, Atem realized it made all the sense in the world. She shared more in common with the prisoner than she did with anyone who had been in attendance that night.

“I must admit, his plea for mercy did move me — especially when I witnessed how cruelly he was treated by the soldiers,” she went on. “It struck me as almost … brave. That he maintained his innocence even in the sight of the gods.”

Another unexpected turn in the conversation caught Atem off guard again. Her sympathy for the man extended beyond even what he expected. Had the situation been different, his instinct would have been to admonish her — the tribute had been a criminal, after all. But he held his tongue, curious, more than anything, about what else she held in her heart.

“It made me wonder—” She stopped walking, and Atem turned to her, finding her eyes filled with curiosity of her own. “Would you ever consider … giving a criminal back their  _ ka? _ ” Atem must have done a poor job concealing his surprise, as she continued: “If they were able to prove their innocence, I mean.”

The threads of her words had finally weaved their way into a clear picture, revealing evidence of a deeper hopefulness and compassion within her. Atem offered her a smile, trying to limit the pity in the curve of his lips. “An interesting proposal,” he admitted, “but one that I’m afraid there’s no precedent for.”

Satiah’s face lost the flicker of optimism, and she turned away.

“But I will speak with my father about the conduct of the guardsmen,” Atem interjected quickly, causing the movement of her body to stop. “You are right — their actions were … overzealous.”

Satiah looked back, and she nodded her acceptance almost indifferently before setting off through the garden again. Atem fell in beside her, left wondering if he’d made another misstep.

After a moment of walking, they emerged from a shaded glade of trees beside the Sacred Lake. As they drew closer to it, two familiar forms came into view: Mahad and Mana were sitting cross-legged and facing one another on the raised edge of the lake. Their eyes were closed — meditating, Atem thought. He smiled and turned to Satiah. With a finger to his lips, he nodded his head in their direction, then set off quietly toward the lake. 

When he came within range of the pair, Atem stopped and cleared his throat, somewhat loudly, causing Mahad to awaken with a start. He looked stunned for a moment, then stood at attention. Mana remained sitting, however, and the look of surprise on Mahad’s face turned to one of annoyance. “Mana,” he hissed, but she didn’t move. Mahad shook her shoulder until she roused.

“Wha—huh? I’m awake…” Mana mumbled, opening one eye and lifting it to her mentor.

Mahad jerked his head toward Atem and Satiah. When Mana turned, her sleepy eyes went as wide as two moon disks. She lurched up off the edge of the Lake, then hurried to stand beside Mahad, and both bowed deeply in Atem’s direction.

“My prince, what a pleasant surprise!” Mana cried in a comically high voice. “And this must be your betrothed, Lady Satiah! A thousand blessings on you, my lady. Welcome to the royal palace!” She bowed again, and Atem was thrilled to see a slight smile come to Satiah’s lips.

“Satiah, these are members of the Royal Conclave, and trusted family friends — Mahad and Mana.”

Mahad lowered his head reverently in her direction. “How lovely it is to finally meet you, my lady,” he said. “Please know that myself and the rest of the conclave are at your humble service.”

Mana nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, ma’am!” she echoed. “If you ever need anything, you can usually find us out here practicing—”

Atem cleared his throat again, stopping Mana in her tracks. Satiah’s smile fell for half a moment, but she forced it back up and turned to address Mana. “What a beautiful place to study magic,” she said, surprising Atem yet again. “I’ll try not to disturb you next time.”

Mana grinned; Atem fought to keep embarrassment from showing on his features. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll let you get back to it,” he said. Mahad and Mana bid their goodbyes, and Atem led the way toward the nearby gate. The guards there stood at attention as they passed through. Atem followed the outer wall of the palace until they came to the corner of the largest of its three pylons, which marked the entrance to the promenade leading to Karnak. Instead of turning down the promenade, however, he crossed in front of the pylon, stopping at the northwest corner. 

When Satiah joined him, her eyes went wide at the sight: a vast lowland area stretched out from the palace walls — and in it were erected seven identical pyramid structures, each one capped with an enormous obelisk. Six were arranged to form a circle, with the seventh at the center

“The Shrines of Wedju,” Atem explained. “One for each Item, one for each Guardian.” He watched as Satiah surveyed the area in awe. “This is where the stone summoning tablets are stored. They are protected by the power of the Items, so that only those who have been anointed to the Royal Conclave can call upon the  _ ka _ sealed within them.”

Satiah finally wrenched her gaze away, and when she turned to Atem, he sensed almost a hint of fear in her eyes. This, again, made him question his plans. The sight of the Shrines was indeed intimidating, but Atem was hopeful a tour of one would temper Satiah’s reluctance. Offering an encouraging smile, he gestured toward a nearby set of stairs and led the way down them. 

As they leveled off into the lowland area, Atem dropped back to ensure he was side by side with Satiah again. He thought about offering an arm to her, but the distracted look on her face told him it was not the right time. Instead, he moved with purpose down the main path, passing between the first two Shrines and heading for the centermost structure in the second row. 

“This is my father’s Shrine,” he explained as they made their way toward its entrance. Satiah barely offered a response, her eyes drawn instead to the towering obelisk atop the pyramid. As they entered, her gaze stayed upturned, sweeping across row upon row of enormous stone slabs. Atem felt an unexpected flutter in his heart as he watched the torch lights dancing in her eyes.

“Before the creation of the Shrines, men could only call upon their own  _ ka. _ ” Though he kept his voice low, it still reverberated off the high, sloped ceiling. “Now, Egypt’s most skilled spellcasters have the power to call on any number of fearsome spirit warriors to do their bidding.”

Satiah finally dropped her eyes back to him, looking somewhat defensive. “The spirits seized from criminals, you mean.”

Atem tried not to take offense at this. “That’s part of it, yes,” he confirmed. “But the Millennium Items also let us preserve the  _ ka  _ of those who have left behind their earthly bodies. Dozens of respected priests and sorcerers have donated their spirits to the Shrines, so that they may serve their king even in death. To them, there is no greater honor.”

Satiah seemed puzzled by this, as if it was the first time she had considered it. Atem seized this candid moment to follow through on his earlier instinct — he reached out and took her hand loosely in his, then guided her toward the center of the Shrine, where directly beneath the obelisk stood a raised altar. After climbing the stairs to the top, Atem released Satiah’s hand and gestured instead to the wall directly opposite them. At eye level, the ceiling was not sloped, but stretched out flat for several feet in either direction. On this surface was a collection of a dozen or so stone slabs — his father’s most prized and trusted  _ ka _ . The slab for the Pharaoh’s own  _ ka  _ was at the center, flanked on either side by Atem’s and Tefnak’s tablets.

Atem took a few steps forward to stand at the edge of the altar, and he looked to the slab above his father’s. Closing his eyes, Atem called upon the mysticism in his heart and summoned forth the  _ ka _ . The chamber was filled with a flash of light, followed soon after by warmth cascading down from the very top of the obelisk.

With a deep breath, Atem opened his eyes. Hovering in the air between the altar and the slabs was a beautiful, feminine figure, dressed in striking violet robes that were draped about her body in an almost ribbon-like fashion. She was kneeling, and against her shoulder rested an exquisite silver harp. 

The spirit raised her head to Atem and smiled at the sight of him. Atem returned it, then looked back toward Satiah, whose eyes were mesmerized by the spirit before her. “Satiah, this is my mother’s  _ ka _ — the Heavenly Muse.”

The Muse bowed her head graciously in Satiah’s direction, her lips still upturned.

“This coming  _ Peret  _ season marks ten years since the queen’s death, but she was adamant that her  _ ka _ be preserved,” Atem said. “Though  _ ka _ do not possess the power of speech, it does still bring me comfort to visit with my mother’s spirit from time to time.”

The Muse raised one delicate hand and gestured for Satiah to come closer. Satiah resisted at first, until Atem, too, lifted his hand, holding it out in encouragement. Satiah finally took a few steps forward, and as she came to stand beside him, Atem rested his hand in the middle of her back, content to see that she did not turn him away.

The Muse looked down at her lap, then deftly ran her fingers across the lyre’s strings, bringing forth a scale of silvery notes that rang brightly throughout the Shrine. After plucking the last string, the Muse closed her hand into a tight fist, lifted it to her lips, and breathed into it. She then gestured another “come hither” motion with her free hand. Satiah hesitated again, then, realizing what was being asked of her, cautiously extended her hand in the Muse’s direction. The spirit reached out and enclosed Satiah’s hand within both of her own, giving it a light squeeze before releasing it. Atem looked down to see, there, in Satiah’s cupped palm, lay a beautiful blue lotus, its glowing petals opening as if to the light of a new day.

Atem smiled wide, throwing his mother’s  _ ka _ a knowing glance. When he looked up at Satiah, however, his joy came crashing down. The light pulsing from the lotus threw stark shadows on her face and illuminated the distinct trail of a tear rolling down her cheek. Without so much as a word, Satiah closed her fist around the flower, then turned to leave. Instinctively, Atem reached for her, but she was already descending the altar stairs and making for the exit with haste.

Wounded, Atem turned back around, just in time to see his mother’s spirit lower her head in sorrow, her form dissipating into a wisp of nothingness.


	12. Compromise

Tears shook free of Satiah’s cheeks with each stair she ascended on her way back to the palace. She rounded the corner past the main entrance and trekked along the outer walls again, forgetting that the prince’s friends were likely still sitting by the Sacred Lake. Sure enough, as she passed through the gate into the gardens, she met the cheerful eyes of the young girl, Mana, who was sitting alone under a tree with an open spellbook in her lap. Satiah froze, and the girl’s sunny face fell with concern. Lowering her eyes, Satiah hurried by her without a word and climbed the stairs back to the living quarters. 

Once inside, she made swiftly for her room, opening and closing the door with an audible slam. She leaned her back up against the cool wood and huffed one last shuddering sob before gathering herself. It was bad enough she had broken down in front of the prince — but it somehow felt even worse now that his friend had witnessed it as well. The show of emotion had taken her thoroughly by surprise — the last thing she had expected to see in the Wedju Shrines was a reminder of her brother.

Sniffing back her tears, Satiah lifted her hand, which had been clenched during the entire walk back to the palace. Slowly, she opened her fist, revealing the soft glow of the lotus again, looking undisturbed despite the force with which she had clamped down on it. It took everything in her not to burst into tears again as she looked upon the flower. She was spared only by the multitude of other emotions that now began to fight her sorrow — joy at this immaculate effigy of her brother, anger over his untimely death, despair at the thought of living the rest of her years without him — all of them, tumbling together and ringing hollow in the depths of her empty heart.

Satiah moved further into her room, cradling the blossom close to her chest as if she might feel the captured rays of Ra’s warmth within it. After Metka’s death, Satiah’s only relief came from the thought that his  _ ka _ had been allowed to pass peacefully on to the Duat. It was a small comfort knowing he would never suffer being sealed in stone for eternity, as was the fate of her own spirit. But as she thought back to the queen’s peaceful  _ ka _ , Satiah couldn’t help but feel a spark of jealousy. What she wouldn’t give to see Metka’s spirit again — to commune with it, even if it couldn’t speak back.

Her dark thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on her door. Instinctively, she clenched her fist around the flower again and snapped her eyes to the source of the sound. “Who is it?” she demanded.

After a brief pause, a meek voice came from behind the door. “It’s Mana, my lady.”

Satiah hissed a curse for letting herself be seen by the girl. Sighing, she approached the door, rubbing tears and black ink from her eyes with the back of her hand. She opened the door a crack, just enough to catch a glimpse of the girl’s cheery smile.

“May I come in?” Mana asked.

Satiah forced a smile in return. She opened the door a bit wider, allowing Mana to cross the threshold. The girl looked around at the room for a moment before turning to Satiah, bouncing from heel to toe.

“Is there something I can do for you, Mana?” Satiah asked, trying not to sound as impatient as she felt.

“Well…” Mana began in a sing-songy voice. “I was just wondering if maybe … you’d like to do something?”

Satiah cocked a brow. “Like what?”

“Anything!” Mana chirped. “We could go into town for a little shopping…? Or maybe walk down to the river and watch the ships come in?”

Satiah tried to maintain a smile, but when Mana seemed suddenly desperate, Satiah feared it was turning into more of a grimace. “That sounds very nice, Mana, but I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well just now—”

“We could just go sit in the garden if you want!” Mana exclaimed. “I can steal some sweets from the kitchen, I know where they keep the best ones—”

Satiah exhaled sharply. “Mana, you seem like a nice enough girl, but I’m really not looking for a new friend right now.” She was unable to temper the edge of annoyance in her voice, and Mana looked incredibly hurt. Guiltily, Satiah turned her eyes away and moved toward the door again. “So if you don’t mind—”

Mana made a determined sound, and suddenly Satiah felt a lurching in her stomach, as if she’d been knocked off her feet and was now in freefall. She winced, expecting an impact, but when she opened her eyes, she was still standing, now greeted with a shower of golden light and a gust of fresh, mountain air. Where the door had been only a moment before, a craggy rock arch now stood, through which a hazy and familiar landscape was visible — Memphis, shining bright in the noonday sun.

Stunned, Satiah turned, setting her gaze first on the girl, whose eyes were squeezed shut and fists balled up tight. But over Mana’s shoulder was a sight that set Satiah’s hair standing on end — against the wall where her bed should have been, the unmistakable shape of Metka’s sarcophagus came into view, surrounded by incense and offerings she had put there herself not a week before.

Her breaths shallow, her heart pumping loud, Satiah moved by Mana, coming to stand over her brother’s sarcophagus. She reached out to touch it, half expecting her hand to fall through it, and fully frightened when it did not. Eyes wide, she ran her fingers across the cool stone and felt her fear turn to wonder.

Recoiling her hand, Satiah spun back around to see Mana looking at her with a resolute stare. Satiah wouldn’t have believed such strong magic could come from such a fledgling spellcaster, but her heart and mind were thoroughly convinced by the illusion.

“I want to help you,” Mana said, her voice quavering despite the steadfast look in her eyes. “I don’t want you to feel alone.”

Satiah felt like a knife had been driven into her gut. This girl had offered her the first true expression of kindness since her arrival, and yet Satiah had repaid her with nothing but scorn. Ashamed, she turned back to Metka’s sarcophagus, watching the way the torch lights on the tomb wall flashed across the cast-bronze mask that was meant to resemble his face. But it looked nothing like him — no more than a shadow etched by someone who’d likely never even known him.

Satiah opened her palm and looked down upon the sparkling lotus blossom again. Reaching out over the sarcophagus, she tipped her hand over and placed the flower gently between the crossed arms etched on its surface. She then turned back to Mana, with a true smile finally on her lips.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Atem didn’t see Satiah again until dinner was served. Part of him had wanted to seek her out, to see if he could offer her some comfort, but he knew it would only make things worse. He’d taken her to the Shrines with the best intentions — to show her the deep and meaningful magic granted by the Items. It was a demonstration he’d rehearsed in his mind dozens of times since he’d dreamt it up in the war room with his father and brother. But it had taken Satiah’s tears for Atem to realize that his grand plan had been meant for a much simpler time — a time before bloodshed and surrender and coercion — all things even the grace of his mother’s  _ ka _ wouldn’t have been able to outshine.

It was for that reason he was relieved to see Satiah looking somewhat less somber as she came to join them on the terrace for dinner. Since this was a smaller venue, meant only for the royal family, and with the seats beside Atem already filled by his father and brother, Satiah seated herself across the table from him instead. She offered the Pharaoh a slight bow of her head and a smile, which she maintained as she looked at Atem. He returned it, though their brief connection was interrupted by the arrival of Metjen a moment later. He took the open seat between Satiah and Nebetah, who shushed Meriti as he whined about his hunger.

Thankfully, servants soon filed in and set the table with a variety of courses, all which seemed especially appetizing to Atem at the moment. He hadn’t eaten at all since his stumble at the Shrines with Satiah, instead electing to spend the rest of the day holed up in the training complex with his brother and Mahad. 

Once the servants left, he set to work filling his plate, happy for this welcome distraction. The comfort of food was unfortunately short lived, however, as the silence soon broke with his father’s voice. 

“Satiah,” Aknamkanon said, causing her eyes to fly up from her plate and meet timidly with the Pharaoh’s. “I heard Atem took you to the Shrines of Wedju this morning. How did you find them?”

Satiah’s lips twitched upward briefly, and Atem could almost see the thoughts forming in her mind. “They were … impressive,” she said at last, placing her spoon down on the table.

Aknamkanon smiled proudly. “Indeed,” he said. “Between you and me, I find the Shrines to be an even greater feat of magic than the Millennium Items. Our priests erected them in less than a month’s time, and they are protected with some of the strongest spells in all the land.” The king took a sip of wine, and in the beat of silence, Satiah forced a conceding smile. “I had a thought to perhaps one day open the Shrines to the public — to let our citizens pay homage to the  _ ka  _ of their brothers and sisters.”

Atem watched as a mixture of emotions flickered across Satiah’s features. He knew his father had meant his words as a sort of peace offering to Satiah and Metjen — a way to acknowledge and elevate their traditional values — but after seeing what had happened at the Shrines earlier that day, Atem wasn’t sure this approach would achieve what his father sought. 

It was not Satiah who finally replied to the Pharaoh’s open-ended suggestion, but rather her father. “What an interesting proposal, your highness,” Metjen said. “I’m sure your people would very much appreciate such a privilege. All men, ordained or not, deserve to commune with the spirits of their kin.”

Atem stopped chewing and shot his eyes to his father, surprised when the Pharaoh’s smile didn’t falter one bit. Instead, Aknamkanon raised his glass to Metjen. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Metjen returned the gesture, and both men took a sip of their drinks in recognition of this rare show of agreement. In the silence that followed, everyone returned their attention to their meals, except Satiah. Atem stole glances at her between bites of his food, not failing to notice the rough lines of skepticism that were still etched in her features. He knew it was likely because Satiah hadn’t yet told her father about what happened at the Shrines, and Atem wondered if Metjen would have reacted differently to the Pharaoh’s proposal if she had.

A moment or two passed before conversation arose again, and Atem was surprised when it was Tefnak who spoke this time.

“So, Metjen,” he said, his mouth half-full with a lamb chop. “Have you considered what you’ll do now that you’ve given up your title?”

Atem wanted to kick his brother in the shins for his cheek, but he held back when Metjen turned to Tef and smiled. “I’ve given it some thought, yes,” Metjen confirmed. “I actually had plans to go into town tomorrow to look for work here.”

Atem caught sight of Satiah sending her father a sidelong glance — apparently, this was the first she’d heard of that.

“Memphis will always be my home, but now that I’ve been …  _ relieved _ of my responsibilities, I don’t see any reason why I should put so many miles between me and my daughter if I don’t have to.”

Nebetah looked up from where she had been helping Meriti cut his food. “Oh, what a wonderful idea,” she said. “It’s such a blessing to be near family, don’t you think Satiah?”

Satiah didn’t reply, still looking expectantly at her father.

“But what will you do?” Tef pressed, obviously still in the mood to antagonize.

Metjen maintained his smile through it all. “An excellent question,” he said. “I’m embarrassed to admit I’m no longer strong enough to work in the natron mines or the necropolis, and I’m probably too old now to learn a new trade. Such are the pains of aging, I suppose.”

“What about scribery?” All eyes once again snapped to the Pharaoh. “There are many archivists and historians in Thebes who would very much appreciate your  _ linguistic _ talents, I’m sure.”

Metjen huffed a wry laugh. “Another brilliant idea, my king,” he said. “Where would one go to seek out such employers?”

Aknamkanon smiled and took hold of his cup. “Let me speak with my viziers. I believe I can arrange a meeting with the temple archivist at Karnak.”

“Thank you, my king — you honor me,” Metjen said, putting his hand to his heart and bowing his head lightly.

“The pleasure is mine,” Aknamkanon replied, raising his glass again.

During this exchange, Satiah’s skepticism slowly melted away into disbelief, perhaps bordering even on optimism. This tone of good will held strong through the rest of the dinner, with Metjen laying out his plans to find a home south of the city so that he could visit Satiah regularly. It did Atem’s heart good to see her smile at this, and he had a thought to perhaps ask her on another walk after dinner to see if he could capitalize on her good mood. By the time the last course was served, even Tefnak was sharing in the cheer, perhaps encouraged by how quickly his wife and son had taken to Metjen, who at one point during the dinner had even taken Meriti into his lap to help amuse the energetic boy. 

Finally, when the table was cleared, Metjen sighed and pushed his chair back. “Thank you for another wonderful meal, my king,” he said. “Come Sati, shall we turn in before they tempt us with dessert?” He stood and turned toward the door behind him.

Nodding, Satiah pushed her chair back and stood; Atem surged out of his chair as well, not wanting to miss his chance. But as he opened his mouth to speak, he found himself interrupted by the voice of his father.

“Atem,” the king said, “would you accompany me on a walk in the garden, please?”

Atem blinked at his father, then trailed his eyes to Satiah, who was looking curiously back at him. As if afraid she might overstay her welcome, she turned and continued into the palace. 

Atem looked back at the king. “Of course, Father,” he said. 

The Pharaoh stood and placed a hand on Atem’s shoulder, turning him toward the stairs to the garden. Atem found himself strangely nervous as they walked side by side into the sunsetting light. This would be the first time they had spoken directly to one another since his father decreed the punishment for his affair. The twinge of shame accompanied by this memory very nearly wiped out the confidence he’d cultivated during dinner. 

But when his father finally spoke, his tone was light — almost whimsical. “One more day,” he said. “How are you feeling, my son?”

Atem didn’t respond right away, his thoughts preoccupied by the way the light filtered through rustling palm leaves.

“Anxious?” the king suggested.

Atem looked up at his father, catching a hint of a smile on his lips. “No, not quite. More like…” He trailed off, struggling to find the right word for how he felt. “Hopeful, I guess.” Somehow the term still didn’t feel right, but it was the only thing he could think to say that wouldn’t worry his father.

“That’s good to hear,” the king said. “And I do believe you have much to be hopeful for. Satiah is a bright young lady. I trust your talks with her have been constructive?”

Atem gritted his teeth, remembering Satiah’s appeal from earlier that day. “She holds many thoughts in her heart,” he said, “but she is very sincere.”

His father nodded knowingly. “That’s good,” he said. “A marriage is much more than a holy union — it is a partnership. Never underestimate how important it is to have someone with whom you can share your thoughts freely.”

Atem looked away as they turned into an aisle of palm trees. If he was honest with himself, Atem wasn’t sure if he had the confidence to follow his father’s advice just yet, especially after he had already stumbled so many times with his future wife. Even with the best intentions, he had yet to bring a true smile to her face — having done quite the opposite, for it seemed sharing his thoughts had so far only ever caused her dismay.

“Father, how is it you always know the right words to say?” Atem was surprised by his own question, and even more so when his father laughed at it.

“Well, I’m not sure that’s  _ always _ the case,” he said, chuckling. “But I’ve had a lot of practice. A Pharaoh who is undiscerning is not Pharaoh for long.”

Atem smiled, though he knew this was his father’s humble answer. He looked up, waiting expectantly for the rest.

“I find it helps to think of every difficult conversation like a contract,” his father continued. “You receive only as much as you are willing to give.” He stopped walking and pivoted, laying one hand on Atem’s shoulder. “We all have our own ambitions in life, and it is likely your wife’s will sometimes diverge from your own. You must not fall into the trap of overlooking her desires in favor of yours. A willingness to compromise will keep you honest and fair, and will lead you to a successful marriage.”

His father’s words were sincere enough, but Atem was left feeling somewhat hollow in their wake. Some part of him had perhaps hoped for guidance of a more spiritual nature — that his father might tell him  _ love _ was the key to a happy union. It was what Atem had always remembered so fondly of his own parents’ marriage, after all — the way they laughed blissfully together on walks in the garden, or how they traded knowing whispers and smiles while huddled around the firelight. Atem couldn’t imagine how something as mundane as compromise could lead to such a warm and affectionate relationship.

Still, he filed this lesson away, along with all the other words of wisdom shared by his father over the years — though Atem feared he would soon run out of space in his mind with all the prayers Shimon had forced him to memorize. “Thank you, Father,” he said at last.

“Of course, my son,” the Pharaoh replied. He made a move to continue up the path, but stopped and turned back. “And Atem… I know I have been strict with you recently, but I want you to know that I am proud of the man you’ve become.” 

Atem felt his cheeks grow warm with a mixture of shame and humility. 

“I worried I had asked too much of you with this marriage,” his father continued. “In some ways, you have taken on an even greater responsibility than your brother, and I thank you for carrying the burden with dignity.” He paused, and his eyes glinted in the deep red glow of Ra’s light. “I see so much of myself in you, but it is your mother’s grace that shines through in moments like this. Keep it with you, and I promise — there is nothing you won’t be able to achieve.”


	13. Reflection

Satiah’s second night in Thebes proved much more restful than the first. She awoke feeling surprisingly refreshed, leading her to wonder if she would have even roused at all had sunlight not reached her face. Fighting a full-body stretch, she rose and crossed the room to the window, where down in the garden she spied the dial of the time-keeping obelisk already approaching the eleven o’clock hour. A jolt of surprise shot through her — she must have slept even better than she first thought.

With a sigh, she retreated from the window and made for the door that adjoined her room to her handmaiden’s. She knocked twice, and a moment later, Tuya answered, looking bright and cheery. “Good morning, my lady,” she said. “You’re looking well-rested.”

Satiah tempered a smirk, then moved away and sat at her nearby vanity; Tuya followed, closing the door behind her. “I couldn’t believe it myself,” Satiah said, cupping her hands in the cool water of the washing basin and splashing it on her face.

“Could it be that you’re finally settling in here?” Tuya asked. She took up a comb and squared herself behind Satiah, beginning to work out the night’s tangles.

Satiah just shrugged. She picked up a bronze hand mirror, catching sight of another knowing smile cracking on Tuya’s lips. Keen to avoid her handmaiden’s curious gaze, Satiah busied herself by picking up a thin paintbrush and dipping it into a pot of black ink, then lifting it to her eyes.

“How has it been getting to know the prince?” Tuya prodded, and Satiah almost jabbed herself in the eye with the brush. She shot Tuya a glare in the mirror, then continued painting the ink along her lash line.

“Fine, I suppose,” Satiah said between brushstrokes. “He’s not particularly …  _ talkative.” _

“Well, neither are you,” Tuya shot back, yanking hard on a thick knot. “You two should get along swimmingly.”

Satiah was momentarily insulted by Tuya’s cheek, but she knew her handmaiden was right. If she could find it in herself to open up to the prince, it would certainly go a long way to making things easier on herself. Still, Satiah was resistant, if only on principle alone — it would take more to woo her than simply arranging a new profession for her father, especially when the royals had been the ones to strip him of his title in the first place.

Tuya soon finished coiffing Satiah’s hair, then set about assembling her outfit for the day. After Satiah put the finishing touches on her makeup, she stepped into the dress that had been set aside for her. Tuya belted it with a sash and pinned on a neckpiece before standing back to inspect her work.

“Beautiful,” she said. “That reminds me — the royal dressmakers asked if you’d like to view their stock of gowns this afternoon. What should I tell them?”

Satiah rolled her eyes. “I’d rather eat camel dung.”

“That’s what I figured,” Tuya said, smiling wider. “I’ll pick something out for you, but you should still come by in the evening for a fitting.” Satiah nodded her acceptance, and Tuya patted her shoulders. “I believe the servants made up a breakfast plate for you on the terrace, if you’d like.”

Satiah took a deep breath — she hadn’t noticed how hungry she’d become. “Perfect,” she said. “Thank you, Tuya.”

Her handmaiden bowed her head and excused herself, disappearing through the door back to her suite. Satiah left her room as well and swept purposefully down the hall toward the terrace. She was surprised when in addition to the plate of food, her father was also waiting for her at the table, sipping idly on hot tea while reading from a papyrus in front of him. He looked up and smiled as she approached.

“I was afraid I’d have to come douse you in cold water soon,” he said.

Satiah concealed a smirk and moved to stand over him, reaching to grab a date from a tray in the center of the table. While she chewed the sweet fruit, she peered curiously down at the papyrus her father was reading.

Metjen leaned back and turned it so she could see it clearer. “A summons — I am to meet with the head scribe at Karnak this afternoon.”

Satiah grabbed another date. “That was fast,” she said. Her father must have picked up on her skepticism, as he peered up at her over the rim of his cup.

“Indeed. I have to say, I was surprised the Pharaoh held up his end of the bargain,” he said. “Perhaps he knew I’d become a thorn in his side either way, and figured this would be the least vexing arrangement.”

Satiah grinned, then grabbed a piece of bread and smeared it with butter. “Very likely.” She meandered over to the edge of the balcony and peered out into the garden. Off to the side, beneath a shaded glade of palm trees, she spied the prince sitting at a table alone. He looked deep in thought, one hand drawn up beneath his chin. There was something on the table in front of him, but Satiah couldn’t make it out from this distance. She took a bite of her bread, then turned back to her father. “Can I come with you? I’m looking for any excuse to get out of modeling gowns.”

Metjen laughed. “You’ll be at Karnak this afternoon, but not with me,” he said, and Satiah felt her stomach lurch. “The Pharaoh’s vizier has asked to direct both you and the prince in a rehearsal of the ceremony.”

Satiah hissed an annoyed sigh. “I forgot.” She shoved the rest of the bread in her mouth and turned to peer down at the prince again. It seemed as though he hadn’t moved at all since she looked away.

“One could forgive you for that,” her father chuckled, “but I do hope you’ll at least  _ try _ to take it seriously. A royal wedding is a holy sacrament, after all — and we could both use a bit of the gods’ favor right now.”

“Fine,” Satiah agreed, coming back over to the table. She grabbed a sweet cake, then moved toward the stairs. “But I’m not wearing a girdle.”

Her father nearly spit out his tea at this, choking back laughter while Satiah descended the steps into the garden. She munched absentmindedly on the cake as she ambled in the general direction of the prince. Eventually, a row of trees parted enough to allow a closer look. He was sitting so still Satiah would have thought he was asleep if not for his eyes darting pensively across the table. From her new vantage point, Satiah could now make out the object in front of him: a senet board, half its pieces already removed and set aside. She looked around, wondering if perhaps his opponent was somewhere nearby.

A moment later, the prince finally lifted his hand and cast the soapstone sticks into an empty spot on the table. He then reached across the board and moved a black piece two spaces ahead.

Bemused, Satiah emerged from her hiding spot, clearing her throat slightly to alert him to her presence. He jolted and turned, looking for a moment like a deer caught grazing, but his face quickly settled with a calm smile as she drew nearer.

“Senet,” she said, peering down at his half-finished board. “A very tactical game. But, where is your opponent?”

Atem looked somewhat embarrassed just then, turning his face down to the board as well. “I’m playing myself, actually,” he said quietly. “I slept late this morning, and all my usual opponents are indisposed at the moment.”

Satiah raised her eyebrows in surprise — it took a special patience and acumen to play oneself in a game like senet. “Now I don’t feel so bad for having slept in as well,” she said, summoning the prince’s eyes back to hers. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a strategist, but would you consider playing against me instead?”

Atem blinked at her, then gestured to the open seat across from him. Satiah took it, looking down at the table. It was a fairly even game, with only a handful of pieces of each color left on the board. 

“Black or white?” the prince asked.

“Whichever one is losing.”

Atem grinned, then picked up the throwing sticks and handed them to her. “White then. Your move.”

Satiah rolled the sticks lightly in her palm, inspecting her playing field more closely. The black pieces currently occupied two unique houses, as well as a stronghold of three pieces in a row near the end of the board. She would not be able to remove any of her pieces without first breaking this wall. She tossed the sticks — two white sides up — then moved a fresh piece from the starting line into the first row.

The prince took up the sticks and threw them — three white sides up. With a smirk, he picked up a black pawn near the center of the board and moved it to land on the same space as one of her pieces already in play. He swapped them out and moved hers back to the starting row.

Satiah smiled. “Ruthless,” she said, picking up the sticks and tossing them. It was a lucky throw, with all four black sides facing up. This let her move five spaces, which effectively made up the lost ground from the last turn, and she was allowed to throw again. After tumbling the sticks one more time, three white sides faced up. She moved a different piece, progressing it around a corner to the next row, then handed the sticks back to Atem.

He spilled them onto the table — two and two. Surprisingly, the prince chose to remove one of his pieces from the end of the board, breaking his defensive wall on the unique houses near the finish line. Satiah figured he must not be taking her seriously. She squinted at him and picked up the sticks again.

“I was told you were fond of games,” she said offhandedly, throwing the sticks and making another seemingly innocuous move. “I must admit I found it a bit … unusual at first, but now I can see why.”

Atem looked a bit abashed at this, but he smiled through it when he picked up the sticks again. “I’ve spent most of my life preparing to inherit the Millennium Ring from my brother, and his responsibilities along with it. But I’ve never been much of a warrior like Tefnak is.” He paused and ran his fingers along the smooth stones in his palm. “I suppose it’s easier for me to hone my skills through the art of games rather than in battle. You wouldn’t know it, but they’re surprisingly similar.”

Satiah considered his words as he threw the stones and made his move. It was true, Atem hadn’t stood out as a particularly strong fighter during their duel in Memphis — his  _ ka _ displayed some interesting skills, but it likely would have been crushed in a one-on-one battle against any of its opponents that day. Still, she remembered with stark clarity the way he had sent his spirit into the line of fire to support his brethren — a move that took a very different kind of strength.

Satiah was surprised to find herself somewhat charmed by these thoughts. Clearing her throat to temper herself, she picked up the soapstone sticks and looked down to plan her next move. She was confused to see he had moved yet another of his pieces away from his stronghold, leaving just one lone piece four spaces away from the end, with two more still in the second row.

“And how do you feel about that burden?” she said. “Inheriting the Ring, I mean.”

His face faltered with thought while Satiah tossed the sticks. She grinned at what turned out to be yet another lucky throw, then took up a white piece and moved to the space on the other side of his furthest pawn, putting her in striking distance of the end of the board.

When she looked up, she was surprised again to see Atem wearing a smile of his own.

“I don’t consider it a burden,” he said simply, taking up the sticks. He rolled them out onto the table, flashing her a quick glance before picking up one of his pieces in the second row. “It is an honor I’m very much looking forward to — and one of my life’s many blessings.”

Satiah felt a flare of blush at the words, and it grew even deeper when she looked up to see his veiled smile remained. But she realized, much too late, that it had nothing to do with the topic of discussion: he set his piece down on the board, and Satiah dropped her eyes to see the black pawn now rested in the unique House of Water, whereas the piece she had moved in her previous turn was positioned in the House of Rebirth. These two houses were linked in such a way that Atem was now allowed to swap places with her piece, sending his last pawn to very near the end of the board, and hers back to the second row.

Satiah bit her lip to keep her blush from spreading further. It seemed Atem had been dismantling his stronghold very much on purpose — in an attempt to bait her into landing on Rebirth and giving him an opening to strike back. This left him with all three of his remaining pieces in the third row, and her five scattered across the first and second. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or irked that he had, in fact, been taking her seriously the whole time.

She reached over to take up the sticks, but as she did, a shadow cut across her. Turning, she saw the Pharaoh’s vizier, Shimon, approaching with a cheery smile on his face.

“There you are,” he said, coming to stand beside the table. “I’ve been searching high and low for you two. Come — Karnak awaits!”

* * *

By the time they’d finished their third rehearsal of the ceremony, Satiah was beginning to feel desperately tired. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open as she knelt before the statue of Iset, her senses burdened with the heavy scent of burning incense and Atem droning on through a prayer beside her. Her eyes flew open only when she heard the vizier clear his throat, causing her to straighten up and mutter through her half of the prayer.

When she finished, she and the prince stood, linked arms, and turned to walk back down the main aisle of statues. Shimon clapped after they took a few steps, leading Satiah to relax and slip her arm gratefully out of the prince’s.

“Well done, well done,” the vizier said, coming to pat them both on the shoulder. “Satiah, I wouldn’t mind if you projected a bit more, and Atem… I noticed you missed a few words after ‘hear our prayer’…”

Satiah couldn’t help but doze off again as the old man gave Atem notes on his recital. Shimon turned and pointed back at the statue, giving Satiah a window to slip away mostly unnoticed. She moved down a nearby aisle, following a pillar of light that was coming in from a west-facing doorway. She passed through it and entered into an open courtyard, filling her lungs with cool evening air. Escaping from the flood of incense helped to reinvigorate her senses a bit.

A familiar voice caught her ear, and she turned to see her father standing on the other side of the courtyard, speaking with a man dressed in regal robes — the head scribe, she figured. A moment later, they shook hands, and Satiah felt her heart soar. Her father then caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, as he turned to her with a smile spreading on his features.

“Hello, Lady Satiah!”

She jolted and spun, meeting a pair of bright eyes emerging from the doorway behind her. Mana stepped into the light, wearing her familiar sunny smile.

“Hello, Mana.”

“I’ve been sent to fetch you for the fitting of your bridal gown,” Mana chirped. “Aren’t you just  _ bursting  _ with excitement? You’re going to look so pretty!”

Satiah had to fight the urge to roll her eyes again, hiding it by looking over her shoulder at her father, who had since started walking side by side through the courtyard with the head scribe. With no viable escape, she turned back to Mana and forced a smile. “Lead on, then.”

Mana squealed, whirled around and started skipping back through the prayer hall, Satiah close behind. Mana stopped to speak briefly with Atem and Shimon, informing them of Satiah’s pressing business, then headed for the exit. 

Once outside, Mana stopped to let Satiah catch up. Her grin took up almost all of her rosy cheeks. “I tried to steal a peek at the gown they’d picked out for you, but they wouldn’t let me,” she whined as they strode purposefully down the promenade. “I think it’s green — or maybe red. Which would you prefer?”

Satiah chewed her tongue. “Either would be nice.”

“Me — I’d want purple. Or blue! To go with the gold headdress! Have you seen it? It’s simply stunning! A shame you’re only allowed to wear it on your wedding day, right?”

“Indeed,” Satiah lied.

“Do you have any special jewelry you’re going to wear? I have a pair of earrings I can lend you. They’re not much, but my mother gave them to me. She’d simply  _ faint  _ from joy if she saw you wearing them.”

Satiah smiled — genuinely. “I’d like that, Mana. Thank you.”

“Mhm!” For the first time since they’d left, Mana stopped speaking for a moment. She peered curiously over at Satiah. “I saw you and Atem playing senet in the garden earlier. Who won?”

“Nobody,” Satiah replied. “We didn’t get to finish. But he had me in a tight spot, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, he’s  _ so _ good at senet. I don’t even play him anymore because he beats me before I even get all my pieces out of the first row. It’s so embarrassing.”

“You just have to keep practicing,” Satiah encouraged. “Or … maybe just trick him with some of that lovely magic you showed me.”

Mana laughed bashfully. A moment later, they passed through the palace’s first pylon.

“He’s quite the tactician, isn’t he?” Satiah said. “I guess in that regard, it helps that he’s so quiet.”

“Yeah.” Mana’s tone became suddenly more sullen. “He used to be really silly when we were kids, but he kind of changed after his mother died. I think he still gets sad about it sometimes.”

Satiah felt a pang of commiseration at this, which grew deeper when she thought back to her meeting with the queen’s ka.

When they entered the palace proper, they found the High Priestess Isis waiting for them just inside, who gave them both a serene smile.

“Thank you for fetching Lady Satiah for me, Mana,” she said. “You can go back to your studies now.”

Mana groaned. “But I want to see the gown!”

Isis gave her a disapproving look. “You can see it tomorrow, along with the rest of the court,” she said. “Now, hurry along — Mahad is waiting.”

Mana rolled her eyes and trudged off toward the gardens. Satiah smiled after her.

“I appreciate you leaving your rehearsal early,” Isis said, leading the way further down the hall; Satiah followed. “The dressmakers want to give themselves enough time to make adjustments.”

“Not a problem,” Satiah replied. They turned a corner and climbed a set of stairs toward the servant’s quarters.

“Less than a day now until you are married. How are you feeling?” Isis probed.

Satiah looked into the woman’s misty blue eyes, and for some reason it seemed as though Isis already knew exactly how she was feeling. “Excited,” she lied. “It is the honor of my life to join the royal family.”

Isis broke a soft smile. “Good,” she said, then turned into a nearby doorway. Inside was a tall, warmly lit room, its floor a maze of looms, furniture, and wooden mannequins, all draped with fine fabrics and accessories. Here and there, seamstresses and dressmakers worked diligently to assemble various garments. At the center of the room was a low dais, around which a few women were currently clustered. One of them, an older woman wearing a finely crafted blue-green dress and a heavy gold necklace, turned as Isis and Satiah approached, her face lighting up with a smile.

“You must be the Lady Satiah,” the woman said with a steep bow. “It is an honor to meet you. I am Amunet, head seamstress of the royal house.”

Satiah nodded to the woman.

“Amunet has been with the royal family for nearly thirty years,” Isis explained. “She has dressed every lady of the court since Aknamkanon’s own wedding. You are in good hands.”

“I must admit, my girls and I have been looking forward to this day for a long time,” Amunet confessed. “There are so few women of the court getting married these days.”

Satiah smiled, feeling somewhat guilty she had tried to shirk this meeting earlier.

“I understand you are very busy — your handmaiden came by earlier to narrow down our selection,” Amunet continued. “Would you care to look at the final choices?”

Satiah nodded, then followed as Amunet led the way to the other side of the dais, where tucked behind a privacy screen stood two mannequins draped with gowns. Amunet came to stand beside the first one — a well-crafted but simple linen frock, the fabric as white as a cloud.

“This is a more traditional gown,” Amunet explained. “The queen herself wore something similar on her wedding day.”

Satiah approached and ran her fingers across the fabric, pulling up the layers to inspect the construction. It had a form-fitting slip beneath a frilly, pleated overdress — she knew just by looking at it she wouldn’t make it three steps down the promenade before sweating through the layers.

Amunet must have sensed her hesitance, as she gestured to the next mannequin. There, Satiah’s eyes were met with fabric in a striking shade of scarlet. This dress, too, had a plain white skirt as the base layer, but the plunging neckline was enhanced with twists and gathers of rare red silks. As Satiah circled it, she smiled upon noticing it was almost backless, with only two red sashes draping from the thin shoulder straps all the way to the floor. If nothing else, this one would be much more comfortable than the white one.

“I first designed this gown for Princess Nebetah’s wedding, but she ended up choosing a different one,” Amunet explained. When Satiah looked at her, the woman was wearing a knowing smile. “Would you like to try it on?”

Satiah returned the smile and nodded. Amunet snapped her fingers, and a moment later two servants came to carefully remove the dress from its form. Satiah was then corralled behind the privacy screen, where the servants quickly undressed her and helped her into the gown. Even without seeing her reflection, Satiah could feel how well the garment was crafted, draping from her curves as if it were made for her. Once pinned in, the servants guided Satiah back out from behind the screen and up onto the dais in the center of the room. There, she turned her eyes up to see Isis and Amunet looking at her with curious smiles.

“What do you think, Isis?” Amunet asked.

The priestess sighed whimsically. “Stunning.”

Amunet smiled wider and turned over her shoulder. “Mirror!” she barked, and a moment later two more servants emerged from the shadows of the room carrying a heavy, floor-length bronze mirror. When they managed to drag it over and prop it up in front of Satiah, her jaw dropped. A patchwork of emotions began to weave itself in her heart — awe at the near-perfect fit, confidence to see her curves on display for once, but a bit of uncertainty in the same vein. If she had been a fuller woman, she thought it might have been slightly too revealing.

Amunet came up and began to fiddle with various parts of the dress. “We’ll have to take it up,” she muttered to her assistant, who followed with a papyrus in hand. “An inch and a half ought to do it.”

While Satiah stared frozen at her reflection, the swell of pride she felt slowly began to fall into fear. It seemed as if someone else were looking back at her in the blurry mirror — a person she’d seen a million times before, but never once met. This person had a deep sorrow in their eyes, as if she were trying to connect with Satiah, to make her voice heard, but she couldn’t reach beyond the polished plane that trapped her.

Suddenly, Isis stepped up beside the mirror, drawing Satiah’s eyes away from it. “Amunet, would you excuse us for a moment?” she said. Without a word, Amunet stopped her fiddling, bowed, and swept away with her servants.

Satiah was surprised to find herself fighting tears as Isis climbed the dais to stand beside her. For a while, they simply looked at one another in the distorted reflection. 

“How are you  _ really _ feeling, my lady?” Isis finally asked.

Satiah choked back the knot in her throat. “Frightened,” she confessed, turning to the priestess.

Isis smiled softly. “I know,” she said. “But I’m here to tell you that you don’t have to be.”

It was odd, but as Satiah fell deeply into the pools of the woman’s eyes — she believed her.

“Your mother died on the birthing bed, didn’t she?” Isis continued, and Satiah felt an unexpected wave of sorrow wash over her. She nodded once. “I never knew my mother either.”

Satiah looked back at her reflection, and found it suddenly more familiar.

“It can be difficult to navigate this world as a woman without maternal guidance,” Isis continued. “Sometimes it feels like we don’t know who to trust — who to let in. We have lived our whole lives in a man’s world, and they have grown accustomed to stepping on our shoulders in pursuit of their ambitions.” Isis turned and put herself between Satiah and the mirror. “The circumstances which brought you to our house are drenched in darkness,” she went on. “But I want you to know that your future is so much brighter.”

Isis reached out and took Satiah’s trembling hands into hers.

“I know that nothing can replace a mother’s wisdom, and you have no reason to believe the words I speak… But I promise you, my lady — you will know joy again.”


	14. Entangled

Long into the night before her wedding, Satiah found herself wide awake. The moonlight streamed in from the window of her temporary bedchamber, casting all of her fears and anxieties in sharp relief. More than anything, Satiah was still haunted by her conversation with the High Priestess earlier in the day. She knew the woman possessed otherworldly powers thanks to her Millennium Item, but there had been something more than just eerie clairvoyance behind Isis’s words. She had somehow seen into Satiah’s soul — at least, what was left of it — and plucked on strings of pain she didn’t even know she had. 

It wasn’t often Satiah thought about the death of her mother — it was hard to feel sad about the passing of someone she’d never met before. In truth, she knew very little about her mother at all. Just her name — Neferu — and that she had been a noblewoman of Anpet, a city located deep in the embrace of the Nile Delta. She had black hair, and “eyes like emeralds” — at least, according to her father. In her tomb mural, her eyes were painted black. 

Metjen had hardly ever spoken about his departed wife when Satiah was growing up. Every once in a while, when he’d had too much to drink, he’d tell stories about her around the fire. Thinking back, Satiah had never enjoyed those tales — she remembered her father speaking in hushed tones with the shine of tears in his eyes. It made her uncomfortable to witness such vulnerability, when in the light of day he was only ever strong and fearless.

But now, on the eve of her wedding, Satiah found herself wanting more than anything for another woman to confide in. With no mother, no sisters, and hardly any female friends, Satiah had never felt truly comfortable expressing her femininity in any meaningful way. In her rebellious adolescence, she’d had a few fatuous flings with boys, but she never found herself dreaming of marriage or motherhood. Her ambitions had always been political in nature, even though she often languished in the shadow of her father and brother. There was once a time, before all the strife arose between Thebes and Memphis, when Satiah had imagined becoming a High Priestess of the Royal Conclave, serving her king with bravery and loyalty.

Satiah suddenly grew very angry — at the Pharaoh for forging the Millennium Items, at her father for rebelling against him — at the whole world, which had let such injustice spiral out of control and set her down this path which had never been meant for her.

With a sharp exhale, Satiah threw back the covers and stood. She shivered at the cold shock of night air and smooth tiles beneath her feet. Following her instinct, she pulled on a robe and swept toward the door leading to her father’s room. She had meant to open it slowly, but in her urgency she pushed hard, causing it to squeak loudly in resistance. From the moon-splashed bed, she saw her father’s form first twitch, then surge upward, his eyes squinting through the darkness to where she stood.

“Sati?” he hissed.

When she didn’t respond, he scrambled out of bed and rushed to meet her, laying both hands on her shoulders.

“My dear, is something wrong?”

Satiah began to tremble, feeling suddenly very small in his familiar grasp — like she was a little girl again, come to wake her father after a bad dream. 

“Father, I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered. Her voice was choked by fear, but the anger that still burned in her heart kept the tears at bay. “I don’t know how to be a wife — how to be a mother.”

Her father’s face fell with pity, and Satiah looked away for fear she would burst into tears of shame. “Sati, look at me.” He slipped a finger beneath her chin and lifted it back up. “You are so much more than the titles you bear.” He smiled, and Satiah felt a breath catch in her throat. “You are smarter than anyone I know, and stronger too. You will not just be a wife, you will be advisor and closest confidant to a prince of Egypt. You will not just be mother to his children, you will raise wise sons and daughters, who will one day rule over the land we call home.” His eyes began to shine with pride — something seldom shown to her over the years. “Whatever happens in the coming weeks or months … remember that it will all be temporary. One day, you will go back to Memphis, and she will welcome you with open arms. And I will be there every step of the way.”

Satiah crashed into him, flinging her arms around his neck and holding on through a wave of tears. He embraced her, supporting her, taking in her pain and giving strength in return. 

* * *

With nothing left to do but wait, Atem paced. Back and forth he walked, listening to the thin sound of his footsteps down the covered veranda and the warble of voices coming from the garden beyond. His father and most of the court were already waiting by the Sacred Lake, where he and Satiah would soon arrive to begin the day of matrimonial rituals. If only she would show herself, Atem thought. It seemed hours since he’d left his room, though he’d come down much earlier than he needed to — a fact he was beginning to regret. He was already starting to perspire through the layers of regalia he’d been forced to wear, which included a thick _shendyt_ with a heavy embroidered sash, and the traditional _nemes_ headdress in striking shades of blue and gold, which draped about his shoulders and stuck uncomfortably to the back of his neck.

He jumped when a pair of footsteps joined the echo of his own down the veranda. He spun, feeling a mixture of surprise and relief to see it was not Satiah approaching, but his brother.

“Careful now, or you’ll wear a hole in the floor,” Tefnak said, grinning.

Atem returned the smile, though it strained his features more like a grimace.

“This suits you,” Tef said, reaching out and touching the _nemes_. “I looked like a chicken when I wore it.”

Atem laughed genuinely at this. He’d only stolen one look at himself in the mirror on his way out the door, and he’d had the same thought.

“You mustn’t be nervous, little brother,” Tef went on. “The wedding is just a load of pomp and circumstance for the commoners to gossip over.”

“I know,” Atem confirmed. “I guess I’d probably feel differently if this were something I’d chosen for myself.”

Tef took a deep breath and nodded understandingly. “Even an unarranged marriage can sometimes have its challenges,” he said. “But I’m not worried about you at all. You’re much cleverer than me. Just keep your wits about you, and you’ll soon be in marital bliss.”

He winked, and Atem smiled again. A collection of soft footsteps faded into his ears, and Atem knew even without looking that Meriti was bounding down the hall, Neb shortly behind. Tef spun and opened his arms to his son.

“Come here, monster!” he roared, hoisting Meriti up on his broad shoulder. “Wish your uncle good luck on his wedding day.”

Meriti giggled and waved to Atem. “Good luck, uncle Atem!”

Atem waved back, then turned to accept a hug and kiss from Nebetah.

“You won’t need it,” she said.

The three of them laughed together and stepped out through the archway leading to the garden. Atem stared after them, his spirits somewhat lifted by their lingering cheer. He was so distracted, he almost missed the arrival of a new presence at the end of the veranda: Satiah stepped into the light streaming in from the garden, her body wrapped in resplendent red silks and gilded jewels. Upon her head was the imposing crown of Iset, its sun disk glowing like a hot coal in the light. Atem’s heart thumped up into his throat as he looked upon her, struck by the beautiful mystery in her sunlit form.

She stopped as their gazes met, her warm eyes framed thickly with black ink. The makeup made it hard for Atem to tell what she was feeling, but the stiffness in her posture spoke volumes.

A moment later, she was joined by her father, who laid a hand on her shoulder and drew her eyes away. They embraced, after which Metjen turned and made his way across the veranda, bowing deeply before Atem. When he straightened, he spoke no words, offering only his hand. Atem looked at the man’s calloused palm before sliding his hand into it and giving it a firm shake. Metjen smiled, broke away, and continued into the garden.

When Atem looked back across the veranda, Satiah dropped her head and swept purposefully in his direction, closing the gap in only a few strides. She stopped, and it looked as though she were trying to meet his eyes, but after a few attempts, she gave up and turned to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, offering her hand. He took it, nestling her fingers into the crook of his arm. As he prepared to step into the light, he paused, feeling a tremble in her loose grasp. Slowly, he raised his free hand and folded it over hers. This finally summoned her eyes to his, and behind the smokey ink he caught sight of a flicker of hope.

He turned back to the garden and took the first step — then another, and another. Satiah quickly fell in to match his gait, and by the time they emerged from the treeline, her fingers had curled confidently around his arm. Sun streamed down into the courtyard and illuminated dozens of smiling faces — his father’s front and center. He returned the king’s bright smile as they made their way for the split in the crowd leading to the edge of the Sacred Lake, trying his best to ignore the hushed whispers and prattling excitement from the rest of the court. 

Once they reached the Lake, Atem released Satiah’s arm, and they both turned back to face the spectators. Shimon stepped out from the crowd and came to stand beside them, carrying a bowl of sand. He gave it to Atem and Satiah, then turned to address the guests.

“We gather here today to witness the union of Prince Atem, son of Aknamkanon, and Lady Satiah, daughter of Metjen. Before this, they were as two grains of sand in the desert, blown on the winds of whim. But today, they join as one in the sight of gods and men. Like Nile silt, they will merge and come together, washing fertile upon the lands of Egypt.”

Shimon turned and gestured to the two of them. Together, Atem and Satiah took handfuls of sand and held them over the water, then opened their fingers to let the grains cascade down into the Lake. Atem watched the white sand turn brown and spread out in dark clouds before dissolving into the seemingly endless blue-green water.

Light applause signaled the end of the first of many rituals. This was the only one which would be attended by the court, until they returned for the dinner feast — the rest of the ceremony, which would take place in Karnak, would only be witnessed by the royal family. 

Atem placed the bowl down on the edge of the lake, then turned back to take Satiah’s arm again. The clapping continued as he led the way back through the crowd, waving at the faces he recognized and bowing his head in gratitude. He walked swiftly into the shade of the palace, then turned and headed out the main entrance.

His family followed close behind, together with Shimon and Metjen. Once they crossed the last pylon and stepped out onto the promenade leading to the temple, their mode of transportation came into view: an open palanquin, attended by eight strong soldiers. Atem walked Satiah toward one side, helping her into the seat meant for her, then climbed over her to recline in his own. Once seated, the soldiers hoisted the palanquin and began the long, slow parade down the promenade.

The closer they drew to the temple, the clearer he could hear it — cries of joy and excitement from the citizens of Thebes, who stood crowded on ground level on either side of the promenade, clamoring wildly to get a view of their prince and his wife-to-be. Some stood on rooftops, waving white scarves or attempting to throw offerings onto the walkway. Atem smiled at them and waved graciously as they passed. He turned, seeing Satiah sitting stone-still in her seat. He caught her eye and nodded with his head to the crowd on her side of the walkway. “Princess Satiah!” they cried. “Bless you! Good faith and good cheer!”

Satiah forced a smile and lifted her hand, stiffly, to wave at the crowd. Atem figured this must be odd for her — having one day been all but unknown to the citizens of Egypt, and the next, a household name.

A moment later, they reached the shadow of Karnak, where the soldiers carefully lowered the palanquin to the ground. Atem dismounted, then turned and took Satiah’s hand to help her down. As they settled, the rest of the royal family stepped down out of their own palanquin, and Shimon gestured to the entrance of the prayer hall. Atem linked his arm with Satiah’s again and led the way into it.

It was as silent as a tomb inside the hall — a strange atmosphere for a place that was usually filled with the drone of prayer or music. The eyes of the gods followed as they walked, until they stopped and stood before the statue of Iset. Atem couldn’t remember how it had been determined that the goddess-queen would be their patron deity, but as she glared coldly down at them, he found himself longing for the warmth of Hathor or the passion of Sekhmet instead.

Slowly, he released Satiah’s hand and knelt before the statue — she followed suit. A moment later, Tefnak approached from behind, carrying an urn of barley wheat; Metjen also came up beside Satiah, bearing a cask of wine — their offering of food and drink to the goddess.

Atem removed the cover on the urn and pushed it beneath Iset’s feet; Satiah did the same with hers. Then, both of them stooped into prostrating bows and kissed the ground before the goddess. When Atem straightened up, he cleared his throat.

“Blessed Iset, queen eternal — all glory to you on this joyous day. Hear our prayer, and accept these offerings as tribute. In return, we ask that you bless us with your wisdom so that we may grow together and build a sturdy house. Impart unto me — your son and prince on earth — the strength to protect and support my wife so that she may thrive and find joy beneath my roof.” Atem bowed his head as he finished his prayer. 

Beside him, Satiah opened her mouth to speak, though for a long time, no words came to her. Her eyes darted back and forth across the face of the statue, and it looked to Atem like she was sending up to the goddess her own private prayer.

Finally, she spoke: “Iset, holy wife and mother — thank you for giving me to my husband. In exchange for these humble gifts, I ask you to instill in me your grace and patience so that I may learn to be a loving wife. Let me be forever faithful and loyal, as you were to your husband, Osiris.” She paused, and her chest grew hollow from lack of breath. “And … may you see fit to bless us with many children.”

Satiah was quick to bow her head and stand. Atem followed, and as they turned to face the gathering of their families, Atem caught sight of his father’s approving gaze. The Pharaoh nodded his head, bringing another smile to Atem’s face as Shimon approached, looking equally pleased.

“Very good,” the vizier said. “By the grace of the gods, I declare your union complete. You may now exchange your matrimonial gifts, as husband and wife.”

Atem looked to Tef where he stood with his hands on his son’s shoulders. He nudged Meriti, who smiled bashfully and stepped forward, offering Atem the box which held his new wife’s gift.

Atem took it and gave it to Satiah; she smiled as Meriti rushed back to entangle himself between his mother’s legs. Satiah then removed the top of the box and set her eyes on the gift inside — the gold chain headdress and ivory comb. Atem recalled achingly the day Ibi had discovered the treasure, and the look of joy she had given him as she placed it upon her head.

Satiah’s smile grew slightly, and she ran her fingers across the threads of gold. “It’s beautiful,” she said looking up. “I will think of you whenever I wear it.”

The words rang somewhat hollow — ever more so with the thought of Ibi hanging in the back of his mind. A moment later, Satiah covered the box back up and handed it to her father, who bent down and swapped it out with a deep, rectangular box sitting beside him on the floor. He handed it to Satiah, who extended it to Atem.

He took it, and the cool, polished ceramic felt heavy in his hands. The cover of the box was etched with lines of hieroglyphs, but in the center was carved a very recognizable cartouche. “This is the symbol of Ramesses the Great,” he said, looking up at Satiah. She smiled and nodded. Eager, Atem removed the cover, revealing the contents of the box: dozens of bronze trinkets were strewn chaotically together, glittering in the dim light — some curved, some straight, but all vaguely similar in construction.

“It’s a puzzle,” Satiah explained. “Or, at least that’s what the trader told me. Though, I confess I haven’t the faintest idea as to the object’s purpose.” She looked a bit embarrassed. “I know it’s not a game, but I could think of none that you wouldn’t already own—”

“It’s perfect,” Atem said, smiling at her. “Thank you.”

After a quiet moment, Shimon clapped his hands together. “How wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Now, shall we return to the palace? I do believe a grand party awaits us!”

...

The transition into the evening hours was a blur of back-patting and handshaking, all hazed together with rich wine, food, and music. At some points, Atem found himself speaking with people he’d never even met before as if they had been life-long friends. 

By the time he and Satiah were finally seated together for the formal dinner, Atem wasn’t even hungry. As he looked over at his wife, it appeared she wasn’t either. She stared down at her plate, roughly twirling a wooden spoon between her fingers and avoiding the multitudes of eyes cast in her direction. 

Her gaze was finally drawn upward as two forms approached the table where they sat. Mana bounded up wearing a huge smile, her mother close behind and carrying a small package. Mana skittered to a stop and rocked back and forth on her heels. “Hi!” she squeaked.

“Hello, Mana,” Atem said. “Thank you for joining us this evening.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it!” she exclaimed. 

Her mother cut in, giving a gracious bow. “A thousand blessings on you both,” she said softly. “We come offering a humble gift for you on this blissful day.” She tipped the package forward and unraveled the papyrus wrapping a bit to reveal the contents — new linens, lily-white, freshly woven and pressed.

“Yeah,” Mana echoed. “We hope you like them.”

Atem was surprised when Satiah smiled and spoke up. “Thank you so much — both of you.”

Mana’s mother nodded and placed the package at the foot of their table before backing away. “Come along Mana, let them eat in peace.”

Mana flashed another huge grin and waved to them. “You look perfect!” she hissed to Satiah, and, pointing to her own ears, she mouthed, ‘you wore them!’, then skittered away to join her mother in the crowd again.

Atem was surprised when Satiah’s smile remained even after they left. Mana must have worked her magic on Satiah at some point or another without him noticing.

The night wore on, and they nibbled their way through a few courses while accepting various gifts from friends and socialites alike. Most were superfluous in nature — trinkets and treasures, clothes that likely didn’t fit — and Atem had to conceal a laugh when one priest’s wife gave Satiah a needlepoint set. 

After the dinner service was concluded, Atem felt his head growing fuzzy from all the drink. It clouded his eyes as he looked upon his new wife, casting her in a warm, otherworldly glow. He decided he was happy, in that moment — happy to have her by his side, to share in this joy with her. Happy she had held to his arm as they walked together into the light. But as he watched the way the torches flickered off all the gold leaf and jewelry and finery that swathed her, he was left wondering how _she_ felt. Had she truly been happy to feel his hand enclosing hers? To exchange gifts before the gods? Were her smiles genuine, or simply reflections of peaceful moments passed? 

Was it even possible for her to feel joy without a soul?

Atem was roused from his thoughts when ripples of words from the crowd began to form a coherent phrase: “Tie them! Tie them!”

A twist of anxiety formed in his stomach — they were calling for the tradition of “tying” the husband and wife together with cloth and scarves, meant to symbolize ushering the couple into their new married life — or, in more transparent terms, their implied consummation. Atem had been hoping to end the night without this silly custom, but as guests began to swell with excitement, he feared there would be no escape. 

A moment later, Tefnak surged forward, grabbing Atem by the arm and dragging him out into the waiting crowd. Atem wouldn’t have believed it, but Tef seemed even more drunk than he was. Tef roared with laughter as he steadied himself on Atem’s shoulders, calling for the crowd to part. Clumsily, the guests formed a lopsided circle. Soon after, Satiah was dragged into the void, a gaggle of women holding onto her arms as well. Hands began pushing against their backs, edging them toward one another. 

Satiah’s cheeks were flushed almost the same shade as her dress. Atem, too, felt his ears burn as the crowd parted, and Mana entered the circle, her arms bursting with strips of cloth, ribbons, and ties in every shade of the rainbow, all surely stolen from the dressmaker’s quarters. She dumped them onto the floor, and bodies swarmed the pile, yanking on as many ends as they could. In flashes of color and laughter, Atem soon felt cool silks threading between his extremities, pinning one of his arms awkwardly against his side. Across from him, Mana had just finished wrapping a wide strip of fabric around Satiah’s middle, and she raced around behind Atem, heaving hard until he was forced to stumble forward. Inch by inch, they were pulled together until their bodies finally met, hip to hip and cheek to cheek.

Whether from the wine or the sheer awkwardness of it all, Atem soon found himself joining in the laughter. His nose brushed Satiah’s forehead, and he feared if she turned too quickly, he would be poked in the eye by her headdress. Struggling, he squeezed his trapped arm free from its binding and rested his hand on her shoulder, naturally pushing them apart a bit. Their eyes met, and Atem came crashing back to a sobering reality. 

Her gaze was long, as if she were staring through him, looking for something — a safe place — somewhere to run and hide from all these prying eyes and probing hands. Her body was here, entwined with his, trapped by threaded cloth and twisted limbs, but her mind was far away, locked in sheltered darkness — alone.

Distorted voices faded in, growing tinny and battering his eardrums like unwelcome rain. “Kiss her!” they called. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Through the tangled fabric, Atem felt something clutch to his arm — her fingers, trembling against him again as they had earlier that day. Fighting a swell of guilt, he slipped his hand further and gripped lightly to the nape of her neck. He then leaned in and placed a short, subdued kiss on her cheek, causing the crowd to roar with dissonant tones of excitement and disappointment. 

As he pulled away, Atem began the slow process of untangling himself from his bindings, shrugging off scarves and tassels, brushing them from Satiah’s shoulders as well. When they were both free, he took his new wife’s hand and turned to the crowd, where uproarious laughter had since faded to muted mumbles.

“Thank you all for joining us on this joyous occasion,” he said, scanning the sea of faces, some familiar, some not. Eventually, his eyes crossed with his father’s, whose face was painted with paternal pride. “We will forever cherish the memories made this day.”

Their guests echoed his parting words with a loud cheer. A moment later, Shimon stepped through the crowd, his arms raised.

“Come, let us see the new couple off and wish them well!”

Quickly, he directed the crowd into two lines leading out the great hall’s main doors. Atem gripped tightly to Satiah’s hand, then led the way down the narrow aisle. As they walked, spectators threw offerings of wheat stalks, palm leaves, and flowers over their heads and shouted their farewells. It wasn’t until they climbed the stairs to the living quarters that the guests’ voices finally faded.

While they walked, Atem couldn’t bring himself to look at Satiah. He moved swiftly, wanting nothing more than to bring her to that place of escape he had seen in her eyes moments before. When he reached his bedchamber, he threw open the doors, and together they crossed the threshold as husband and wife.

He released her hand to close the doors behind him. Turning back, his heart was struck to a stop to see her standing in perfect stillness beside his bed, bathed in a pillar of moonlight streaming in from the window. Her eyes were closed, her head turned up to the sky, hands hanging limply by her sides as if she were waiting for Khonsu himself to reach down and take her away. Atem approached her slowly, not wanting to pull her from this place of refuge, but curious to see what she would do next. A long, drawn moment passed, and her eyes finally fell open. She then lifted her hand to her cheek, briefly touching two fingers to the spot where he had kissed her. She turned her head, and as their eyes met, Atem saw her being wrenched from her dreamscape, thrust unceremoniously back to the present moment.

Atem was surprised when he was first to break the gaze, feeling suddenly like a stranger in his own room. He ducked his head and crossed to his wardrobe, where he began peeling away layers of his regalia. He removed the _nemes_ and placed it on a wooden mannequin, then draped his violet cloak across its shoulders. He was in the process of removing his neck collar when soft, hitching noises reached his ear, and he spun to see Satiah’s shoulders quivering where she stood facing away from him. She had removed the crown of Iset and placed it on his table and was now wrapping her arms around her shoulders, threading her fingers beneath the straps of her dress.

A knife of guilt pierced through Atem’s heart, and he swept over to her, placing his hands frantically on her arms. “Satiah, wait—”

She jolted and twisted beneath his hands, her chin turning over her shoulder far enough for him to see trails of ink-stained tears streaming down her cheeks. He turned her lightly so that she was facing him. She continued to sob, her hands climbing up her shoulders to cover her shame-stricken face. 

“We don’t have to do this,” Atem whispered.

Satiah sucked in a deep breath and pressed the heel of her hand into her cheek, wiping away streaks of ink. “I am your wife now,” she said, shudderingly. “I do as you command.”

“Satiah, listen to me.” He reached up and took hold of one of her hands, clutching it and bringing it to his chest. “We may have been forced to marry because of the sins of our kin. But I promise, such injustice ends now. From this day forth, there will be no man, no beast, nor spirit in the heavens who can force you to do something against your will.”

She calmed, just a bit, but her eyes continued to swim with shining tears. Atem turned her gently around, lowering both of their bodies to sit on the edge of his bed.

“You’re right,” he continued. “You are my wife now. And that means I will treat you with the respect and dignity you deserve.” She blinked, and the tears smoothed themselves against her lashes like rain across a feather. “I will never hurt you. I swear it.”

He didn’t know if it was his words or the aching way he clutched to her, but the fear slowly began to drain from Satiah’s face. Her shoulders steadied, and a moment later a fatigue took her, her eyes falling closed and her head leaning to rest on his shoulder. Startled by the sudden closeles, Atem lifted his hand to wrap around her arm. He held her there for a while, letting her breaths settle back to a steady pace. Eventually, he stood and gently guided her body down against the sheets.

“Rest your head,” he said. “Consider this your bed now. I will join you in it only when you are ready to share it with me, and not a moment sooner.”

Satiah sniffed and nestled her head into a pillow. Atem pulled a sheet over her shoulder, which she took and tucked beneath her chin, her eyes falling instantly closed. She looked almost childlike, lying on her side with her knees curled up, and Atem couldn’t help but smile. He reached over, picking up a pillow and sheet for himself, then stood and crossed the room to the bench beneath his window. There, he set the sheet out and stretched himself beneath it, turning his tired eyes toward the moon for one last moment before falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	15. Venom

Atem awoke before the sun the next morning, his eyes greeted by a veil of gray light drawn over the land. Part of him wished for darkness to creep back across the sky again, to give him another few hours of much needed rest. It seemed only minutes had passed since he closed his eyes to the world, lulling himself to sleep to the sound of his new wife’s muffled weeping.

The thought made his heavy eyes fly open, and he lifted his head to look across the room at his bed. Even from this distance, he could see the gentle rise and fall of Satiah’s body where she lay twisted beneath the sheets. The sight filled him with conflicting waves of relief and unease. Half of him expected her not to be there — not because he thought she had left in the night, but because the events of their wedding had passed in such a blur that he was left wondering if it had even been real.

Quietly, Atem sat up and shifted to rest his back against the arm of the bench. He suddenly had the urge to wake her — to look into her eyes, as if they might hold the truth about what happened the night before. But he knew it would be selfish to do so. There were no words she could say, no look she could give him that could whisk away the dunes of guilt building in his heart.

He removed his covers and stood, the shock of cold helping to ground him in the present moment. Quiet as a spirit, he drifted across the room to his wardrobe, carefully pulling on a fresh set of clothes and his cloak. He avoided looking to his bed again, instead turning to leave the room. On the way, he caught sight of a mountain of gifts leaning up against the wall, no doubt brought up by servants during the dinner feast. On the top of the pile was the small rectangular box with the cartouche of Ramesses etched on it — Satiah’s gift. He smiled reflexively at this small and subtle token of hope. Heartened a bit, he continued on and left the room as quietly as he could.

A shiver overtook him as he walked down the deserted hall, and he pulled his cloak around his front to keep some heat in. Even as he emerged onto the terrace, the twilight air was still filled with the chill of night. Atem moved to the edge of the balcony, leaning over and surveying the gardens, which sat as still as he’d ever seen them. The sight gave further credence to the thought that he might still be dreaming, but the peaceful air was soon broken by the sound of footsteps behind him. He spun just in time to see Tefnak emerging from the hall, looking as if he’d been trampled by a horse.

Tef groaned, rubbing his fingers roughly into the dark circles beneath his eyes as he came to stand beside Atem.

“Perhaps you can tell me why I woke up in the wine cellar?” Tef asked, sounding as if his throat were filled with sand.

“I guess you needed more wine?” Atem replied.

Tef broke a smile, and involuntarily, Atem mirrored it, feeling it grow into a full-blown grin as Tef threw his arm around him and patted his shoulder.

“What are you doing up so early, brother?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be … well, busy furthering the family line?”

Atem’s smile fell, and Tef jabbed him in the side with his finger.

“Rough first night, I take it?”

Atem gritted his teeth. “It wasn’t like that,” he said. “I didn’t want to rush things.”

Tef smirked, then heaved a big sigh. “I can’t say I’m surprised,” he said, in that flippant way of his. “I know you have cautious instincts, little brother, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. Fatherhood is the greatest blessing a man can ask for. And to be honest, you aren’t doing Satiah any favors by taking things slow, either.”

Atem couldn’t help but feel a bit defensive. It was true, the weeks and days leading up to their wedding had been clouded with the awkward expectation of what was to come after — consummation and procreation. But when the moment came for them to escape to their wedding bed, it seemed such notions were the last thing on his mind — even before he’d witnessed Satiah’s tears.

He wondered why he had so willingly shied away from this responsibility, and even more so, why Satiah had been the one so quick to expect it. For a long time, Atem had been quietly shouldering the burden of their forced betrothal, convincing himself that it was his duty to marry her — that it was for the good of Egypt to bring together their noble bloodlines. But after spending time with her, and seeing so many sides of her — the poised and the vulnerable — it now seemed more important that he simply make himself worthy of her affections in the first place.

“I’ll work on it,” Atem finally said.

Tef forced a smile and gave Atem another encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Good,” he said, pulling away. “Well, I’m going to try and squeeze in another few hours of sleep. If I’m careful, Neb might not even notice I never came to bed.”

Atem cocked a brow, laughing skeptically.

“If you’re smart, you’ll do the same,” Tef said as he turned to walk back into the palace. “This might be the only day in your whole life that not a soul in the palace will come to disturb you.”

* * *

Satiah fought hard against the forces which sought to pull her from her dreams — the sound of footsteps, the creak of a door, the rays of morning light hunting for her eyelids. Eventually, it was neither light nor sound which awoke her, but the wandering trail of her thoughts finally landing on the painful memories from the night before. Her eyes flew open, and she surged upright. Her surroundings felt somehow even more surreal than her dreams — her hands clutching to cool linens, her body still wrapped in the lush fabric of her wedding gown. 

Immediately, her eyes snapped to the other side of the room, and her nerves settled upon seeing the bench below the window was empty. She stared at the spot for a while, at the sun cascading over the strewn sheets and the indentation of a body still impressed in the feathered cushion. A tide of shame crept over her as she recalled the sharp and aching sound of her sobs, echoing through this bedchamber she now shared with her husband. How could she have been so weak as to let herself tumble into tears before him? Had she not been bracing herself for weeks in anticipation of this reality? Had he not been gentle to her in the hours leading up to it, guiding her with grace through the ceremony and sparing her from needless embarrassment before the court?

Of all the things that hung heavy in her mind leading up to their marriage, the act of consummation was easily the least intimidating. It was a visceral and instinctive deed, one with which she was not altogether unfamiliar, and which would likely have been over almost as quickly as it began. No. Sex was not what frightened her, she decided. It was everything that came after — carrying, bearing and raising a child — which had brought her to frantic tears the night before.

It had all come so quickly — the meeting, the marriage, the possibility of motherhood. Barely half a week prior, Satiah had scoffed at the idea of spending time with the prince. She cursed herself for being so dismissive, when what she wanted now most of all was simply to have an honest conversation with her husband — to tell him of all the dreams she held onto, and to learn of the ones he kept in his own heart.

The sound of hurried footsteps beyond the door brought Satiah rushing back to reality. She worried that perhaps her silent musings had somehow summoned the prince, but the steps quickly receded out of earshot. Exhaling sharply, she threw back the sheets and stood, gathering the strength to face the day ahead. 

She scanned the room, happy to see that her trunk and belongings had since been brought up, now sitting in between the prince’s wardrobe and the pile of gifts accumulated during the wedding. She made for her trunk, throwing open the lid and rummaging around for a fresh dress. While she peeled off her wrinkled gown and stepped into the clean linen  _ kalasiris _ , Satiah wondered where she might find Atem. The obvious answer was the gardens — a frequent haunt of his, she’d since discovered. Remembering his bedchamber had a clear view of the courtyard, she headed over to the window and peered down into it.

The sun was just beginning to trickle over the palace walls, bathing the gardens in tones of gold. The wind shook the palms and sycamore trees, whose leaves fluttered in greeting to Ra’s light and cast long, creeping shadows across the grounds. There was no sign of the prince, however, at least that she could see. 

She was preparing to take her search elsewhere when a booming noise reached her ears, echoing sharply through the courtyard. “Where is the bastard?!  _ I’ll kill him!” _

A fist of fear closed itself around Satiah’s middle. A moment later, a loud  _ bang _ filled the hallway on the other side of the door. She jolted and raced to it, throwing it open just in time to see the prince’s brother stalking angrily past. Shortly behind him, four servants came rushing into the hall, each one holding tight to the corners of a wooden stretcher. 

Satiah covered her mouth when she looked down to see princess Nebetah lying on the stretcher, unmoving and bleeding from a grisly head wound. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw next — Atem emerged from the room soon after, carrying the body of the crown prince’s son limply in his arms.

She met eyes with her husband as he drew near, and the look he gave her was like nothing she had seen before. No longer were his eyes veiled with calm mist, but rather burned a dark indigo. His body was tense and rigid, as if he were fighting rage.

“Stay inside,” he ordered.

She would have listened, if not for the commotion that drew her attention down the hall in the other direction. More yelling, this time pained — and familiar. Satiah felt her own anger surge when her father’s body was then thrown roughly to the ground at the junction of the visitors’ wing and the servants’ quarters.

She broke immediately into a full-blown sprint, arriving at the scene just in time to see Tefnak grabbing a spear from one of the guardsmen who stood, dumbfounded, nearby. The crown prince pointed the spear down at her father, who was just now turning onto his back and holding his hands up in surrender.

Satiah flung herself in front of the spear, staring up at Tefnak as if daring him to strike.

“Tef!”

The crown prince broke his gaze, turning to look at Atem. The two brothers shared an indignant stare before Tefnak finally lowered the spear and thrust it back into the guardsman’s hands.

“Take them both to the throne room,” he barked. “And gather the Guardians.”

The soldiers hesitated, until one of them stepped forward, stooping to collect Metjen from the ground. While his partner joined him, Satiah felt another set of hands trying to seize her as well.

“Stop.” Her husband’s voice cut quick, bringing all the guards to a standstill. Satiah looked at Atem, seeing his eyes locked on the guard’s hand where it lay clenched around her arm. Sensing the severity in his prince’s gaze, the guard slackened his grip, and Satiah pulled her arm roughly away. Atem then turned to the soldiers who held her father, nodding once. All the guards immediately set off down the hallway, dragging Metjen with them.

Tefnak waited for a moment, staring bitterly at his brother, before following the group down the hall. As their footsteps receded, Atem swept in close to Satiah, cradling Meriti’s body close to him. Satiah could just barely see the boy’s chest moving with ragged breaths. “Wait for me in the throne room,” he whispered, “and do not say a word to anyone.”

He did not wait for her acknowledgement before brushing by her with haste. At the next junction, he split from the others and disappeared from sight.

Satiah curled her hands into tight fists, feeling her nails digging painfully into her palms. Her senses were assaulted by pangs of confusion, wrath, loathing … and sorrow, over the state of Tefnak’s innocent family. She couldn’t even begin to fathom who had done such horrible things to them, or why — but she knew with certainty that her father was innocent. In a frustrated haze, she set off down the hall and followed the dark passageways toward the throne room. As she rounded the corner to it, she saw the Pharaoh striding purposefully through the entrance. She jogged to catch up, walking into the cavernous chamber just in time to see her father being forced to his knees before the king and a cluster of his Sacred Guardians, who stood behind Tefnak in the center of the room.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Pharaoh demanded.

Satiah circled carefully around the outer walls of the chamber, catching her father’s eye and giving him a supportive stare.

“This villain…” Tefnak muttered. “He tried to murder my wife and child!” 

The Pharaoh stiffened with disbelief. After a pause, he turned to Metjen. “How do you answer these charges?”

“I am innocent, my king!” he sputtered. “I would never lay a finger on them!”

“LIAR!” Tefnak shouted. “You beat Nebetah within an inch of her life! And you poisoned my boy!” Even from this distance, Satiah could see the crown prince shaking with rage. “My baby boy…!”

“Where are the woman and child now?” Aknamkanon said quickly.

Just then, Atem strode into the room, with Shimon hurrying along behind him. 

The Pharaoh turned. “What news?”

“Nebetah is being treated for her wounds, but she is still unconscious,” Shimon explained breathlessly. “Meriti has indeed been poisoned. By what agent, we do not yet know. There are no markings which indicate a bite or sting, but the guards are searching the room as we speak.”

“Have them search  _ his _ room,” Tefnak snapped, pointing to Metjen. “Or better yet, his heart!” He spun, addressing the Guardians. “Karim! Use your Scales to reveal this man’s treachery!”

The black-haired Karim stood up straight, clutching tightly to his Item. He looked from the prince, to the Pharaoh, and back again. “I’m sorry, my prince… But even if I did, this man has no  _ ka _ — his spiritual essence is no longer visible to any of the Millennium Items.”

Tefnak looked suddenly desperate, and Satiah wondered if perhaps the shine in his eyes was the beginning of tears.

“Then let this be your guide.”

A deep and booming voice cut across the dead air. All eyes turned, falling to where Aknadin was striding contemptuously into the throne room. Satiah felt her stomach turn as her eyes fell to his hands, which were clutched around a stack of familiar papyri. When he reached the circle, he tossed the stack onto the ground, sending Bakura’s sketches sliding across the floor toward where her father kneeled. 

“These were found amongst the former nomarch’s personal belongings,” Aknadin explained.

Satiah could feel her pulse quickening as the royals and Guardians each took up a drawing, their faces twisting with shock and disgust. Atem, too, peered down over his father’s shoulder, then turned unblinking to Satiah.

“How do you explain yourself?” the Pharaoh demanded of Metjen.

Satiah watched as her father struggled to respond, his hands turning up in an almost beggarly fashion. She was immediately reminded of the day he’d fallen to his knees before the Pharaoh in the hot Memphis sun, pleading for mercy.

Unbidden, Satiah found herself stepping out of the shadows toward the circle of royals. “They belonged to a former member of the Memphis Conclave,” she said quickly. “You may remember him from our duel — his name is Bakura.”

Tefnak’s lip curled up in defiance. “More lies, certainly—” 

The Pharaoh held up his hand, silencing his son. “If that is the case, then why are they in your father’s possession?”

Satiah gulped down a breath, catching her husband’s eyes for a moment again. He looked almost fearful for her. “Bakura fled after our defeat at Memphis,” she explained. “These were found in his room. We feared he may be planning something, so we brought them here to show your highness and his court — as a warning.”

Satiah was surprised by the strength of her own voice, which had succeeded at least in tempering Tefnak’s anger. In the silence that followed, the Pharaoh took deep, steady breaths, his eyes falling back to the papyrus clutched in his hand. He had just opened his mouth to speak when hurried, uneven footsteps drew his attention back to the entrance of the throne room.

Nebetah stumbled into the chamber, carried under the arms by two servants, one of whom was holding a bloodied cloth to her forehead.

“Neb!” Tefnak raced to meet his wife, taking her from the arms of the servants to cradle her against him. “Thank the gods! I feared the worst for you.”

The princess’s face was streaked with tears, and she broke down further in her husband’s arms.

“What happened, my love? Tell me — who did this to you? Who poisoned Meriti?”

Nebetah wept louder upon the mention of her son. “A ghost—!” she cried.

Satiah tensed.

“He came in through the window — creeping like a dead thing in the shadows. He took me by the throat—” she pointed to her neck, where angry purple bruises were forming, “—and asked where he could find the bearer of the Millennium Ring. When I said I didn’t know, he threw me aside… Then he summoned a  _ ka _ more powerful than any I have seen… Pale like a corpse, floating upon the body of a great, coiled asp. The snake loomed over Meriti and dripped its venom into his ear—” 

Nebetah wailed and struck her fist against her husband’s chest. Tefnak held tight to her, his eyes going wide with each word.

“He told me that he alone held the antidote to the poison,” the princess choked. “And that Meriti would die by sundown if the prince of Egypt did not come and face him in a duel.”

Silence swallowed the chamber like a god’s embrace.

“Where, my love?” Tefnak urged. “Where did he go?

“The mortuary temple,” she sobbed, “of Ramesses the Great.”


	16. Mortality

Satiah stood at the entrance to the throne room, watching the princes stalk into the shadows of the palace, cloaks billowing behind. They were heading toward the palace stables, she knew, where they would mount up and prepare themselves for a potentially deadly confrontation. This morbid revelation conjured within Satiah an urge to follow her husband — to ride by his side along the southern road to Ramesses’ mortuary complex. It was an impulse as true to her as her own heart — to rise against the threat of evil and defend the innocent. But she knew without her  _ ka _ , she would only be a burden to him, and meanwhile, threats of a different kind were still hanging over her own flesh and blood.

She turned, seeing the Pharaoh and his Guardians in heated discussion over her father’s kneeling form. A moment later, the king peeled away from the group, walking through the darkness to where Satiah stood.

“The Guardians have agreed it is best if we sequester your father to his quarters until after the princes return.”

Satiah gritted her teeth. “And me?”

“You are free to do as you please,” he said. “However, I believe Princess Nebetah would very much appreciate your presence and support in this difficult time.”

Satiah turned her gaze from side to side. To her left lay the infirmary, where Nebetah would surely be pacing with worry by her son’s bedside. To her right, the princes were arming themselves for battle against a foe they knew very little about. Fists clenched, Satiah looked up at the Pharaoh. In his eyes burned the same fire she had seen in his son not long before. She knew he felt the same urge she did — to protect his kin and country from those who wished to do them harm.

A moment passed, and soon the Sacred Guardians began filing out of the throne room. Her father trailed behind them, ushered again by soldiers, albeit less viciously this time. He met her eyes as he passed, offering a subtle but distinct nod of his head.

Exhaling sharply, Satiah turned to her right and receded down the dark passageway, away from her father and the Pharaoh and the mourning princess. She circled down a winding staircase, emerging in the stables a moment later. Following the line of stalls to the end, she came upon the princes hurriedly tacking their horses with saddles. They had since been joined by a third presence — Mahad, the spellcaster Satiah had met with Mana in the gardens. He was first to notice her presence, looking at her over the withers of his horse.

Atem quickly caught sight of her as well, and his face grew tight with unease. “Go back to the palace,” he ordered.

Satiah ignored him, following as he moved to grab a saddle from the wall. “I’ll go with you,” she said, more as a statement than a plea.

“No.”

“You don’t know what you’re up against,” she urged, “I know more about this man than any of you—” He brushed by her again, throwing the saddle across his mount. Frustrated, she grabbed his arm, causing him to tense and spin on her. Falling back a step, she took a deep breath. “Let me help you.”

Atem looked over his shoulder a moment, then swept in and took Satiah by the arm, leading her into the adjacent empty stall. His eyes smoldered darkly, even in the shadows. “I need you here,” he said, laying his hands on her arms. “Watch over the princess and her son. We’re going to do everything we can, but I need Nebetah and the others to keep hope.” He looked over his shoulder again, then dropped his voice. “And your father…”

Satiah’s stomach turned. “What about him?”

He worked his jaw, and Satiah soon realized what had kept the fire alive in his eyes — he was preparing for the possibility that they would fail.

“Just… Stay. Please.”

He pulled away, returning to his horse. Satiah stared at the spot where he’d last stood, feeling cold needles of fear trickling down her spine. A moment later, the squeak of leather drew her eyes back to the trio, who were mounting their steeds one by one and riding out into the open courtyard beyond. Satiah followed them all the way to the palace gate, which was thrown open on their approach.

She stood at the wall and watched until the three men disappeared beyond the rippling horizon, like mirages in the desert.

* * *

By the time they’d reached the edge of the city, Atem felt as if the hoofbeats of his steed had replaced the pumping of his heart. His brother, who was riding at the head of the line, hadn’t slowed his horses’ gait to less than a canter since they’d left the palace. Finally, as they reached the crest of a hill overlooking the southern road, Tefnak peeled off the path and came to a stop. Atem pulled his reins and angled his horse beside his brother’s; Mahad trotted up to his other side. 

The road before them wove down into a jagged lowland, then leveled out to a narrow path beside the river. Further on, nestled in the cliffs overlooking the Nile, was Ramesses’ mortuary complex. It had once been a beautiful sight to behold, at least according to legend — the complex had been abandoned after an earthquake struck the area and rendered the temples too treacherous for visitors. Shimon once said that all of Egypt had mourned that day, when the monument to the country’s most beloved king nearly fell into the Nile.

Atem stole a glance at his brother — the noonday sun cast deep shadows into the hollows of his face and made him look much older than he was. Atem’s eyes were drawn downward when the jangle of gold reached his ears — the Millennium Ring was glowing bright, its prongs pointing stiffly in the direction of the mortuary complex. This was the Item’s unique gift — to lead its bearer to the deepest desire of his heart.

Tefnak folded his hand over the Ring’s prongs to silence them, then led his horse back down to the road, where he set off at a gallop again. Atem and Mahad followed close behind, guiding their steeds along the winding path into the lowland. Minutes passed like hours, knowing that with each one gone, Meriti was drawn closer and closer to death. Atem tightened his grip on his reins — no matter the motivations of this villain Bakura, it was simply unspeakable to put the life of an innocent child in danger.

As they rode, Atem couldn’t help but consider the intentions behind the man’s madness. When pressed, Satiah and Metjen seemed unable to provide any useful information about the man or his fixation with the Millennium Items. He’d been invited into the Memphis Conclave on the might of his  _ ka _ alone, and had advised the nomarch only until the death of Metka at the hands of Tefnak. Metjen did admit, however, that Bakura had purported himself a strong believer in the uprising. This admission had only stirred the Guardians’ dismay, but while they bickered over guilt and indictments, Atem had not failed to notice his new wife’s reticence on the matter — it was clear she knew more than she was letting on.

Before long, they crested another hill, bringing the mortuary complex into view. The entrance was marked by two east-facing statues, one of which had lost its head over the years of neglect since the earthquake. As they passed between them, Tef pulled on his reins, slowing his horse to a trot. Atem did the same, scanning the complex — now no more than a ghost town littered with collapsed structures and crumbling obelisks. 

Then, Mahad pointed toward the river. At the edge stood an immense temple, half its ceiling and walls caved in, revealing its shadowy interior. Waving from the top of one of its pylons was what appeared to be a bright red flag. But as Atem inspected it closer, he realized the fabric was wrapped around a man — white-haired and defiant, standing tall atop the half-sunken structure.

Tef must have noticed it too, as he urged his horse in the direction of the temple. Atem and Mahad followed quickly, arriving at the entrance just as Tefnak dismounted his steed. He marched up into the shadow of the pylon, arms thrown back in anger.

“Come down, coward!” he shouted. “Face the Prince of Egypt, if that is what you so desire!”

Atem and Mahad dismounted, then lashed the horses to a nearby post and came to stand beside Tef. From this distance, Atem was afforded a better view of the man atop the temple wall. From his wild white hair to his twisted grin, there was no mistaking his identity — this was indeed the duelist they had faced in Memphis some weeks ago.

Bakura threw his head back and laughed madly. “Now, now, let’s not be hasty!” he called. “Come — join me in the House of a Million Years of our great king Ramesses.”

Before Tef could say another word, Bakura backed away from the edge of the pylon and disappeared. The trio of them exchanged glances — Mahad looking conflicted and Tef, wrathful. Eventually, Tef turned and led the way up the temple’s stairs, entering into the shadowy hypostyle hall at the top. Inside, rays of light cascaded down from holes in the ceiling, illuminating the cracked and unstable ground. Here and there, statues and effigies and even some pillars lay leaning or fully toppled. At the very back of the temple was a wall of open windows overlooking the river; in the center was positioned an impressive and somehow unbroken statue of Ramesses in his kingly regalia. Before the Pharaoh, illuminated by a column of light, stood Bakura, his back turned to the three of them.

They approached swiftly, but cautiously. Upon coming within a stone’s throw of him, Bakura spun, his lips still tight with a smirk.

“What’s this?” he said, his voice cutting sharply through the temple. “I asked only for one Prince of Egypt, and you bring me two? How generous.”

“Silence, cur!” Tef shouted. “Give me the antidote, and perhaps I’ll grant you a painless death.”

Bakura chuckled. “Fine. I will give you what you seek.” He reached into his robe and pulled out a small corked vial. “But you must give me something in return.”

Atem tensed as Bakura’s eyes dropped blatantly to Tef’s Millennium Ring. 

Tef took notice too — he reached up and clutched the Ring to his chest, scoffing. “You’re mad if you think I’ll just hand it over to you.”

“Perhaps,” Bakura admitted. “But if you don’t, I’m afraid your poor little boy won’t make it to nightfall. And his death will not be painless by any means — I can assure you of that.”

Tef lurched forward, but his shoulder was caught by Mahad.

“What do you intend to do with the Item?” Mahad asked.

Bakura raised his eyebrows. “I see the princes brought their pet dog with them, as usual.”

Tef tensed even further, but Mahad seemed not to even register the insult.

Bakura smirked, pocketed the vial, and turned back to face the Pharaoh’s statue. “Ramesses was the greatest of kings, wouldn’t you say? So strong and fair… His ascension to the throne was forged in the fires of war, when he overthrew the heretic Amenhotep and restored order to Egypt. If Amenhotep had gotten his way, the entire country would have been thrust into darkness in service of one all-powerful god… Zorac.” 

Atem felt his stomach turn at the name. He knew well the legends surrounding this heretical deity, who first surfaced nearly three hundred years earlier during Amenhotep’s reign. Many priests and archivists believed the Pharaoh was mad, and that he had simply invented Zorac out of his twisted imagination. But during his reign, Amenhotep attempted to hold up Zorac as the one true god of Egypt — a decree which gave rise to so much strife, it nearly destroyed the whole country.

“But Ramesses stopped him,” Bakura went on. “He spent his life conquering the enemies of this land and squashing traitors like flies. Unlike your ilk, who sit idly in your palace playing with the gods’ magic as if it were a child’s toy.”

“I did not come here to debate history!” Tef interrupted. “Nor will I sit by while you slander my family’s name.”

Bakura sneered. “And what about  _ my _ family?” he snapped. “What about those I loved?” He stopped himself, and Atem clearly saw a flicker of sorrow being consumed by the rage burning in his eyes. He lowered his head and walked to a nearby pile of rubble, where another of Ramesses’ statues lay broken in half. “What does it matter?” he said calmly. “The fact is you and your kin are woefully unqualified to wield the magic you were given.” He kicked a piece of rubble into the statue’s eye. “Your ancestors waged war for the sake of their ideals. And yet here you are … wearing the gods’ blessing around your neck like a common piece of jewelry.”

“Enough!” Tef shouted. “I care not for your ridiculous fairytales. If you will not give me the vial, so be it. Let us duel for it.”

Bakura clicked his tongue. “So quick to resort to violence,” he said. “One could even say you resemble the Great Ramesses in that regard…” He turned back, the smirk returned to his face. “Very well. If you want violence, then you shall have it. But your baby brother and his lap dog must not interfere. I don’t want a repeat of that sham of a duel that took place in Memphis.”

Tefnak didn’t hesitate. Nodding, he immediately turned to square off against his opponent. 

Atem grabbed his shoulder. “Brother, wait—”

Tef scowled and shrugged his arm away. “You heard him — I must do this alone.”

“That may be so — but what guarantee do we have that he won’t destroy the vial even if he loses?”

Tefnak lowered his eyes, apparently having not considered this.

Atem stepped forward to address Bakura. “We wish to place further terms on this duel,” he announced. “In order to ensure that both parties are held to account, you must each place your spoils on the statue’s altar. That way, the winner of the duel claims both items.”

Bakura chuckled. “It appears while your brother was gifted with the brawn of the family, you received the brains.” He paused, retrieving the vial from his robe again. “As you wish, my prince. Bring forth your wager.”

Tefnak and Bakura walked, almost step for step, toward the intact statue at the back of the temple. There, Tef slowly removed the Millennium Ring from his neck and hung it from Ramesses’ outstretched hand. Bakura grinned and shook the vial, then placed it gently in the statue’s other palm. The pair stared each other down for a moment, then turned their backs to one another and walked in separate directions, putting a respectable distance between themselves and their spoils.

While Tef still faced away, Atem came to stand before him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have never been so sure of anything in my life,” Tef confirmed.

Atem grimaced and nodded, then stepped back to join Mahad again.

After a sharp breath, Tef spun to face his opponent. Reaching up to the sky, he called upon his  _ ka;  _ Bakura copied him, and a moment later the chamber was swallowed with the light of magic. Appearing before Tefnak was his trusted spirit, the Tomb Guardian. The ram-headed warrior stood tall, brandishing its enormous warhammer and snorting menacingly. A moment later, Bakura’s  _ ka _ materialized — Diabound, Atem remembered — a great pale beast, hovering with feathered wings above a coiled snake head. 

The spirits stood rigid facing one another, but not for long — Tefnak was not one for patience, and with his son’s life on the line, Atem knew he would be more urgent than ever. “Go, Tomb Guardian! Punish this bastard’s  _ ka! _ ”

The Guardian crouched and launched itself forward, coming to meet its opponent like a thunderbolt meets the ground. There, it swung its warhammer high and brought it down hard. Diabound was ready with its arms crossed above its head, which succeeded in blocking much of the force. But Atem saw the creature buckle beneath the weight of the hammer — a subtle movement, and one Tefnak was likely too distracted to notice or capitalize on. Sure enough, while the creatures grappled with one another, Diabound rallied itself and sent its snake head to strike the Guardian’s middle.

Fangs bared, the snake latched itself onto Tefnak’s  _ ka _ , and for a moment Atem thought the Guardian was done for. But looking down, he was shocked to see the snake’s fangs had failed to pierce the Guardian’s battle armor. Still, Tef’s  _ ka _ was forced to fall back, but with this new distance between them, it was able to wind up and unleash a hellish blow to the snake head still clinging to its middle. Atem winced at the bone-crunching sound that followed, and the chamber was then swallowed with Diabound’s howls of pain.

The Guardian didn’t fail to press its advantage this time. Using its entire bodyweight, Tef’s spirit swung its hammer upward in a wide arc, landing another blow straight into Diabound’s gut. This sent the creature tumbling backward across the floor, stopped only by a pile of rubble near the back of the temple.

It was Bakura who cried out now — letting loose an animalistic growl of frustration as he turned to face his  _ ka _ . “Get up, you useless creature!”

Diabound slowly pushed itself off the ground, flexing its wings to shake off dust and rocks. Tef again raised his hand to order his  _ ka _ to strike, but before the Guardian could cross the arena, Diabound suddenly took flight. It streaked upward and burst through a small fissure in the ceiling, causing it to collapse into a gaping hole. Below, the Guardian was forced to recoil from the rubble that came pelting down from upon it. Bakura must have realized his  _ ka _ was far outclassed in the ground fight, but putting Diabound in the sky would give him an advantage in both offense and defense. 

Atem, no longer able to see Bakura’s creature, scrambled sideways to find a new vantage point. The creature soon became visible through a hole in the ceiling, just in time for Atem to see Diabound charging up one of its shockwave attacks.

“Tef! Watch out!”

Tefnak ordered his  _ ka _ to dodge with only seconds to spare; the Guardian took a glancing blow from the shockwave, which cut a new hole in the ceiling. When Atem looked over at his brother, he saw the distinct flicker of an idea flashing behind his eyes.

“Neat trick,” Tefnak called. “But you can’t hide, even in the sky.” He thrust his arm out, directing his  _ ka _ toward the center of the arena, where the collapse in the ceiling was the largest. There, the Guardian took its warhammer in both hands and raised it straight up above its head, then struck the pommel down into the ground with thunderous force. Green energy gathered from the spot and traveled like lightning up the hammer, streaking up into the sky to strike where Diabound hovered over the temple. The creature was consumed by the energy, which sparked violently across its body and brought forth more cries of pain. After the green glow subsided, Diabound crumpled and came hurtling back to the earth, colliding with the floor in a mass of swirling smoke.

Atem coughed and reeled away from the dust, looking up just in time to see the Guardian hurtling through the air toward the crater where Diabound had landed. The windforce sliced a clear void into the smoke, revealing a shocking sight: Diabound’s snake head had somehow summoned the strength to catch the handle of the Guardian’s hammer between its jaws. The pale creature trembled as it held the strike at bay, just long enough to bring its hands together and charge another shockwave attack.

Atem tensed, knowing a direct hit from this distance would be near fatal for the Tomb Guardian. But just before the creature loosed its attack, Atem was struck with a sudden realization: Diabound’s hands were not angled toward the Guardian, but rather up and over the spirit’s shoulder — toward the ceiling.

Atem cried out for his brother, but the gut-punching sound of Diabound’s attack drowned all other noise, until the cracking of stone swallowed the chamber a split second later. Diabound’s attack had struck one of the temple’s few remaining hypostyle pillars, cutting through the stone like a knife through flesh. The moments that followed seemed to pass like hours: the pillar collapsed, breaking into cylindrical sections as they rained down upon Tefnak where he stood, defenseless. The last thing Atem saw was his brother’s eyes turning up to the light before the temple was filled with dust and smoke.

_ “No!” _

Atem raced to where his brother had disappeared beneath the rubble, but the ceiling continued to buckle without the support of the pillar, sending more chunks of stone careening down from on high. Atem looked up to see a colossal slab heading straight for him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, raising his arm in preparation for impact. Flickers of memories passed before his eyelids — playing with his brother in the garden as children, listening to his mother sing them to sleep on cold nights, the pride he’d felt the day Tefnak had been gifted the Millennium Ring. 

A moment flashed by, and though he felt the heavy weight of his mortality, Atem knew he was not dead. He turned his head up, eyes going wide at the sight: his wife’s  _ ka _ , the Shieldmaiden of Sekhmet, stood tall above him, holding her shield up to protect him from the raining rubble.

The lioness spirit turned her dark eyes down to him, and Atem suddenly felt needles of reality prickle along his skin. He whipped his head over his shoulder to see both of the other  _ ka  _ had gone, but Bakura was now scrambling across the temple floor toward the statue of Ramesses at the back of the temple. Gritting his teeth, Atem looked back at the pile of rubble where Tefnak had stood a moment before. 

“Save my brother!” he called to the Shieldmaiden. She nodded her head, then lowered her shield and dashed toward the collapsed pillar. Without a moment’s hesitation, Atem set off for the statue at a full-on sprint, dodging falling debris as he went. Bakura had a head start on him, however, and Atem could see the villain reaching for the vial and the Ring. But suddenly, a flash of blackness cut across the arena, striking the floor directly in front of Bakura and knocking him backward.

Atem, still running, looked up to see the Magician of Illusion floating above, its staff sparking with dark magic. In his periphery, he saw Mahad emerging from a swirl of smoke, coughing and covered in dirt, but otherwise unharmed. 

Meanwhile, Atem had nearly reached the statue, having to sidestep another falling stone as the temple continued to crumble around him. Quickly, he vaulted up onto the statue’s feet and swiped the antidote and the Millennium Ring from its hands, but as he moved to jump back down to the temple floor, he found himself pulled in the other direction. Stumbling, he looked over his shoulder to see Bakura’s hand latched onto the bottom of the Ring. Black eyes wild, he pulled hard, and Atem nearly dropped the antidote as he was forced to bring his other hand up to keep the Ring from slipping out of his grasp. They grappled for a moment, until a flash of violet streaked across Atem’s vision — Bakura was hit with another blast of dark magic from the Magician of Illusion, forcing him to let go of the Ring. Bakura somehow managed to stay on his feet, but he was sent stumbling so far backward that he had to reach his hands out to steady himself against the windowsill and keep from falling out of the temple.

Dazed, Atem turned his head over his shoulder to see a fire raging in Mahad’s eyes — never had Atem seen such wrath within him. He flicked his wrist, ordering his  _ ka _ to strike once more. Without hesitation, the Magician cast another dark spell upon Bakura, sending the villain over the edge of the temple with a short, pitiful cry, followed soon after by a shallow splash.

Atem had no time to let this new reality sink in — a moment later, another limestone slab came crashing down from the ceiling, landing only feet away from him. He winced when he felt a hand wrap around his arm, turning to see Mahad pulling him toward the temple’s exit. Stumbling after his friend, Atem stole one last glance behind him to see, with great relief, the Shieldmaiden was trailing behind them, carrying Tefnak across her back. 

As they burst out of the temple, his eyes were blinded temporarily by the harsh evening sun. Mahad continued pulling him onward until they reached the bottom of the stairs, where both fell to their knees, coughing sharp limestone dust from their lungs. The air was still filled with the low rumble of the collapsing temple, and heaving, Atem turned back to see the Shieldmaiden jogging to a stop beside them. 

She knelt down and laid Tefnak gingerly on the ground. Panicked, Atem dropped the Ring and vial, scrambling over to pull his brother’s body into his lap. He looked almost like a painting, covered in dust and bloody brush strokes. His robes were drenched in so much red, Atem couldn’t even tell where it was coming from.

“Tef,” he wheezed, shaking his limp shoulders. “Tef, can you hear me? Say something!”

Mahad knelt by his side; anger still gripped him, but he softened as he gazed upon Tefnak. With trembling fingers, Mahad reached out and took Tef’s wrist in his hand.

Even before Mahad spoke, Atem felt tears stinging into his eyes. 

“He is gone.”

Choking a sob, Atem leaned forward and pressed his forehead into Tef’s, his hand curling into a fist on his cloak. Softly, he rocked back and forth, teeth gritted down as if that might stop the tears that fell to splash against Tef’s dust-covered cheeks. He could hear himself crying out his brother’s name, but it was muffled — as if it were  _ his  _ spirit drifting off to the Duat, not Tef’s.

Atem jolted when he felt a hand fall to his shoulder. When he looked up, he was met first with the sorrowful eyes of his wife’s  _ ka.  _ A moment later, she hung her head and disappeared like mist in the wind. Eyes clouded with tears, he turned to look at Mahad, whose gaze had since filled with urgency again.

“My prince,” he hissed, “the sun is going down.”

Atem whipped his head over his shoulder to see Ra’s eye floating down toward the mountains to the west.

“You must make for the palace at once,” Mahad urged. “Hurry. I will follow behind with the prince’s body.”

The words struck another dagger of pain in his heart, but it was soon overshadowed by a new fear. Atem stole one last tear-filled glance at his brother, leaning down to kiss his forehead. Carefully, he transferred his body to Mahad’s arms, then stood to take up the Millennium Ring and the vial lying nearby. He hesitated only a moment before throwing the Ring around his neck and clutching tightly to the vial of antidote in his palm. Pivoting, he swept over and untied his horse before mounting it and jabbing his heels into its sides. He set off at a gallop along the road to the north, the sky hung with the dull glow of sunlight on one side, and the creeping claws of nightfall on the other.


	17. Breathe

Satiah stood over a table folding cloth rags, trying to busy her hands with something — anything that might keep her mind off the threat of death that now clouded the infirmary. Behind her, Nebetah sat on a bench by her son’s bedside, whispering gently and stroking his sweat-slicked forehead. Every once in a while, Meriti would twitch or moan, but his eyes remained closed to the world as he struggled against the poison coursing through his veins. Satiah could barely bring herself to look upon the child’s face, her nerves already worn ragged from the sight.

It drove her mad with frustration — to be witness to so much suffering, unable to even lift a finger to stop it. She was not built to weather such adversity in silence, nor was she equipped to comfort a fearful mother. Satiah stole a glance over her shoulder, the evening sun catching the shimmer of Nebetah’s tears and driving another angry stake into Satiah’s heart. More than the health of her son, this woman deserved justice. Satiah could only hope that the princes would send Bakura to his grave for what he had done.

Exhaling sharply, Satiah moved to the end of the table, where servants had set out two cups and a pitcher of wine. She poured one cup, then walked to stand beside Nebetah. The princess jolted and looked up at the sight of Satiah’s shadow looming over her son.

“You should drink something, Princess,” Satiah whispered, handing her the cup. “You’ll be of no help to him if you faint from thirst.”

A pinched smile flashed across Nebetah’s face; she took the cup, lifting it to her lips for a sip. “Thank you.”

Nebetah stared into the dark liquid a moment, then set the cup down on the bench beside her. Immediately, her eyes and hands fell back to her son, and Satiah couldn’t help but let her own gaze drift to him as well. Nebetah folded Meriti’s hand between both of hers and brought it to her lips. His tiny fingers clutched reflexively around his mother’s hands.

“When I was a child, my brother was plagued with poor health.” Satiah was surprised by the sound of her own voice, perhaps even more than Nebetah, who turned her eyes up again. “His lungs. They were weak, all throughout his childhood. When we played, sometimes we would have to stop so he could catch his breath. I remember being so frightened the first time it happened. I thought it would never pass — watching him kneeling in the dirt, wheezing like an old man.” Satiah averted her eyes again, then moved to sit beside Nebetah. “One day, he had a spell that didn’t pass. It went on for hours, and the healers feared he would suffocate himself before the night was through. They sent riders all throughout the land, searching for herbs and remedies they thought might ease his pain…” Slowly, Satiah reached out a hand and rested it on Meriti’s knee. His skin burned icy hot. “But my father was not content to wait for death to take his son. He stayed with my brother until the sun rose, holding him in his arms, chest to chest … teaching him how to breathe again. In the end, it was no herb or potion that saved my brother … It was love. The love only a parent can give their child.”

When Satiah turned to Nebetah, the princess had descended into quiet, shivering tears again. Unexpectedly, she leaned her head against Satiah’s shoulder. Satiah hesitated a moment before allowing herself to wrap the woman in a loose hug. As the princess sobbed, Satiah watched the way Nebetah held to her child’s hand. She was reminded of the way her father had clutched to Metka all those years ago, his knuckles flashing white in desperation. Slowly, Satiah lifted her free hand and laid it over Nebetah’s, enclosing Meriti’s trembling fingers in a supportive embrace.

A moment passed, and as Nebetah’s sobs dwindled to hitching breaths, she pulled away from Satiah, lifting her skirt to wipe her face. Sniffing, she forced a smile. “You should know that I don’t blame your father for what happened,” she said, looking back at Meriti. “He has been nothing but kind to us since his arrival, and he was so patient with Meriti. I’ve never seen my boy open up so quickly to a stranger before.”

Satiah let herself feel the slightest flicker of relief at this. Her thoughts drifted again to her father, who was now locked away in his room like a criminal awaiting trial — and surely wallowing in guilt over the tragedy their inaction had caused. Had they just been a little quicker, a little braver, a little more open with their royal hosts, it was possible none of this would have happened.

Stricken, Satiah released Nebetah’s hand, then quickly stood. “Let me get some water and a fresh cloth for his head,” she whispered. The princess smiled and nodded, and Satiah turned back to the table where she’d been folding linens earlier. There, she took up a small bowl and filled it with water from an urn sitting on the floor nearby. 

As she straightened to grab a rag, her heart was struck with a familiar jolting sensation. Her fingers faltered, causing the bowl to slip through them and clatter loudly to the ground. She clutched her chest, feeling her heart thumping in a pattern that had only ever echoed one thing — the summoning of her  _ ka _ .

“Is everything alright?”

Satiah spun, seeing the princess looking at her with worried eyes. “Apologies,” Satiah said, picking up the bowl and filling it with water again. She quickly grabbed a rag and soaked it in the water, then crossed the room again to hand the bowl to Nebetah. “Will you be alright if I leave for a moment? I have something I need to attend to.”

Nebetah still looked concerned, but she simply nodded. At this, Satiah wheeled around, pushing her way out the infirmary doors into the hallway beyond. She jumped when she heard the scramble of feet nearby. Turning, she squinted into the shadows to see the tail end of a familiar white frock disappearing around the nearest corner.

Satiah closed the door and chased the flash of white around the corner. There, she stopped, listening to soft hitching sounds coming from the alcove of a window nearby. Her thrumming heart grew suddenly heavy, and she crept forward to peek into the alcove, seeing Mana crouched down with her knees drawn up to her chest.

“I’m s-sorry, Princess,” Mana stammered. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Satiah pursed her lips, then lowered herself down across from the girl. “It’s alright, Mana,” she whispered, reaching out to lay a hand on her knee. “But you really shouldn’t be here right now. Where is your mother?”

Mana sniffed loudly. “She’s d-down at K-Karnak, with the other mothers. Praying.”

“You should be with her,” Satiah said, trying to keep her voice free of reproach. “The Princess needs all the prayers she can get.”

“It all just f-feels so … so  _ useless,” _ Mana gasped, lowering her face down into her arms. “Why can’t we do anything?”

Satiah suddenly remembered the familiar tingle in her heart from earlier. Even for just that brief moment, it had felt like she’d been made whole again — like all her emptiness had been filled with a new purpose. But as she looked upon the weeping girl before her, all Satiah could feel now was grief.

Slowly, she shimmied forward and wrapped an arm around Mana’s shoulder, pulling her close. Satiah hushed her, rubbing her arms to steady her wracking sobs. Eventually, Mana looked up, her green eyes swimming like drowned lily pads.

“Satiah,” she whispered, “is Meriti going to die?”

Instantly, Satiah felt as if her heart had been run through with knives. Her mouth fell open, intending at first to give some words of comfort — some lie that might put Mana’s mind at ease. But before she could speak, footsteps drew near, summoning her attention upward to see Shimon emerging from the darkness deeper in the hall.

He quickly found her eyes. “Princess,” he panted, “come quickly.”

Satiah released Mana and surged to her feet, her eyes instinctively flying over her shoulder to look out the window beside her. The sun was now no more than a weak red orb, sinking hurriedly toward the horizon.

“Stay here,” she said to Mana, dipping away to follow Shimon back toward the infirmary. Before they even reached it, Nebetah’s panicked cries reached Satiah’s ears, and when they entered, the scene grew only more chaotic. Servants had swarmed the bed, where Meriti was currently seizing in violent fits. In the corner of the room, Nebetah was wailing uncontrollably, held back by Isis, whose eyes were squeezed shut and face turned away.

Satiah found herself frozen by fear momentarily, until she saw Shimon sweep in and break through the line of servants. “His organs are failing,” he whispered. “Satiah — help me turn him on his side.”

Blinking, Satiah rushed into an open spot and put her hands on Meriti’s quivering body. His skin was now as cold as ice, and if his limbs hadn’t been twitching wildly, Satiah would have thought death had already taken him. Working in time with Shimon, she turned the boy onto his side, watching in horror as the whites of his eyes flashed and a thin stream of spittle trickled from the corner of his mouth. Shimon released him and came around to stand beside Satiah. He knelt down and clutched Meriti’s chin, helping to separate the boy’s clenched jaws.

“Breathe, Meriti,” he whispered.  _ “Breathe.” _

Satiah struggled to hold the boy down, having to use more force than she would have ever thought necessary for such a small child. Her own teeth were gritted hard, the pain dulled only by the terror that infested her senses. Her vision grew to narrow pinpoints, the sounds of Nebetah’s wails growing muffled in her ears. Fearing she might faint, Satiah forced herself to look away from the spasming body in her arms, turning her eyes instead to the open doorway.

_ Come back, _ she begged.  _ Walk through the door. He will die if you don’t. Come back, damn you. Come back. Please — _

Stillness.

Meriti’s rigid muscles grew slack beneath her fingers, his limbs falling limp to the bed. A quiet moment passed, in which Nebetah’s voice dwindled to a whimper, until she saw Shimon back away from the bed, revealing her son’s lifeless body.

Her aching cries again consumed the chamber, and she broke free of Isis’s grasp to throw herself over Meriti. Satiah wrenched her eyes away from the sight, turning them to the still-empty doorway. Feeling the fingers of despair reaching for her, she lowered her head and swept out of the room. Sorrow strangled her throat as she walked deep into the shadows, until she was forced to stop and suck in air like an infant taking its first breath. Clutching at her chest, she leaned into the cool stone wall, the husk of her body too empty even for tears to flow.

Then, she felt a presence and heard footsteps, clattering through the passage at a sprinting pace. She turned slowly, just in time to see her husband emerging from the darkness like a star born into the night.

He stopped running and froze as he set his eyes on her, his entire body heaving and drenched in sweat. Without even saying a word, she could see the realization growing in his wide eyes. But in the end, she said nothing — simply shook her head, slowly, from side to side. 

Despair took him, bringing him crashing to his hands and knees. Satiah watched his body quiver with ragged breaths, rippling from his core, up into his chest, and down through his trembling limbs. In the last flicker of evening light left lingering in the hallway, she saw the distinct shape of a clay vial pinned beneath his hand.

Behind her, the sounds of muffled weeping grew like a sickness again, and Satiah turned to see Nebetah being led out of the infirmary. Her breaths hissed to a stop as she set her eyes upon Atem. He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and again the pervading whispers of misery passed between them.

Nebetah rushed over to where he knelt, laying her hands on his shoulders. “Tefnak…?” she breathed.

Satiah saw the shine of tears in her husband’s eyes just before he lowered his chin to his chest. He reached his hand up and pulled his cloak over his shoulder, revealing the glinting Millennium Ring hanging around his neck.

“No,” Nebetah choked. “No, please, tell me it’s not true. Tell me—”

She never found Atem’s eyes again. He left them downturned as shame wracked him, turning his gasping breaths into quaking sobs. Nebetah joined him in tears, but it took her a long time to find the strength to embrace him — to hold onto this last thread that tethered her to the flesh and blood she once shared with him, but which, in a fleeting moment, were now gone.

* * *

By the time Mahad returned to the palace with the crown prince’s body, the moon was already hanging high above the earth. Even as the priest rode slowly through the palace gate, Satiah kept her eyes turned up to Khonsu’s nearly-full face. Beside her stood Atem and the Pharaoh, and when Mahad pulled his horse to a stop before them, Satiah stole a glance at father and son. There was no trace of sorrow, or any other emotion, on either man’s face. In the cold light of the moon, Satiah thought they could have been tomb paintings. Soon, Mahad dismounted his horse and moved to its hindquarters, where he slowly removed the limp body slung over the back of his saddle. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Atem lower his eyes at this, his jaws clenching.

Mahad carried the crown prince forward and laid him out on a stretcher that had been set on the ground nearby. Four servants then stepped forward and picked it up, carrying it toward the palace proper. The Pharaoh stepped forward, causing them to stop. He laid his hand on his son’s chest, where his white tunic was splashed with stains of blood. After a moment, the Pharaoh stepped back and nodded at the servants, who set off again.

Mahad stepped forward and bowed down to one knee. Aknamkanon said nothing, even as the priest rose and looked his king in the eyes. Eventually, the Pharaoh reached out and placed one hand on Mahad’s shoulder, giving it a light, almost grateful squeeze. When Aknamkanon took his hand away, Mahad moved to stand before Atem. Satiah could see Atem struggling to meet his friend’s eyes — the only other ones which had seen what happened in the mortuary temple.

“Meriti?” Mahad whispered.

Atem lowered his head further, then shook it once. Immediately, Mahad surged forward and caught the prince in a tight embrace. Atem inhaled sharply before wrapping his arms around his friend in return.

Fearing she would be witness to more of her husband’s tears, Satiah spun and receded back into the shadow of the palace. She walked without purpose for a while, simply glancing out of open windows to find Khonsu still beaming relentlessly down on her. Eventually, she found herself back in the living quarters, standing before the door to her father’s room. Two soldiers had been posted outside, but they practically ignored Satiah as she approached. Like everyone she had passed, from the lowest servant to highest priests, their heads were hung in mourning for their prince.

Satiah took a deep breath and pushed her way into the room, finding it, too, bathed in moonlight. At first, she could not find her father amongst the creeping shadows, but as she moved further into the room, she caught sight of a quivering form sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed. Satiah was hesitant to approach at first, until a silver glint caught her eye — a knife was clasped tightly in her father’s hands.

Panicked, Satiah swept forward and knelt by his side, thrusting her hand to cover the blade of the knife. He jolted and turned his face up to meet hers, looking as if he’d just been woken from a dream.

“What are you doing?” Satiah hissed.

His face morphed from shock to anger, and he tightened his grip on the handle of the knife. “Leave me be—”

“Two lives have already been stolen this day—”

“This is my fault, Sati,” he choked. “It’s all my fault.”

Satiah gritted her teeth and finally wrested the knife away from him, dropping it to the ground behind her. “Do not let the royals hear you say such things,” she spat. “You are not to blame for what happened. You were deceived, just like I was — just like they were. The only one at fault currently lies at the bottom of the Nile.”

Upon hearing this, the lines of guilt in his face softened a bit.

“You need to gather yourself, Father,” Satiah went on. “The Guardians will want to speak with you again. I believe some of them are on your side, but others are still angry. Their king is in mourning, and if we’re not careful, they will convince him to have you locked in chains — or worse.”

Satiah could see the wheels of rational thought returning to him. He hung his head a moment, then pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Both of them jumped at the sound of harsh rapping on the door.

“Metjen,” came a muffled but familiar voice — Aknadin. “You have been summoned to the throne room.”

Satiah hissed a curse — the Guardians had come much sooner than she expected. She could only pray that she’d absolved her father of enough guilt for him to stand this trial. She rose, reaching her hands out to help him to his feet. Together, they walked to the door, where Satiah threw it open to meet Aknadin’s glinting stare. He stood there not but a moment before turning away and starting down the hall toward the throne room. Satiah followed, leading her father on, both of them trailed closely by the guards who’d been posted outside the door.

As they entered the immense chamber, they were welcomed by discerning stares from the rest of the Sacred Guardians, who stood clustered at the foot of the dais. On his throne sat the Pharaoh, whose gaze was long — unfocused. Beside him, Atem stood rigid, his head downturned. He had since removed the Millennium Ring from his neck, but where it was now, Satiah could only guess.

“My king,” Aknadin announced, “we have heard the account from the prince and Mahad. The would-be thief Bakura has been vanquished, but at great cost to the country — and to your family. We gather here to decide the fate of the man responsible for this atrocity.” Aknadin turned his golden eye to Satiah’s father, who took a deep breath to steady himself. “Since this man no longer has  _ ka _ to offer up for his sins … I propose we execute him. This will balance the scales of death, but only just.”

Satiah stiffened. She opened her mouth to protest, but she was surprised when Shimon spoke first.

“Guardian Aknadin, isn’t that a bit excessive?” he said, his brow lowered in consternation. “Metjen has not knowingly committed any crime.”

“Crime or not, his actions — or rather, lack of action — caused the demise of an entire royal lineage,” Aknadin said.

“You speak of scales,” Karim interjected, “but I see no justice in this path. To kill this man would only stain our own  _ ka _ .”

“Toss him in the dungeon, then,” Seto spat. “Let the guilt rot him away to an early grave.”

Satiah clenched her fists. Beside her, she could feel her father sinking further into his shame.

Isis pushed into the circle. “I will not be party to the theft of an innocent man’s future.”

“And what about the crown prince’s future?” Aknadin said. “What about his son’s—?

_ “Enough!” _

The king surged out of his throne, thrusting his hand out to his court.

“I will hear no more talk of death and justice,” he said. “My son may be gone, but the wretched thief who stole him from me is no more. With that, I consider the scales balanced.” He turned his dark eyes down to Satiah’s father. “Metjen — the pain in my heart tells me to banish you from my kingdom. But for the sake of Satiah, who is now my daughter as much as yours, I will not subject you to such a fate. Go — you are a free man, so long as you leave my palace by morning.”

Aknadin stepped forward. “But, my king—”

“And you, Aknadin,” the Pharaoh said, his voice still strong and pointed. “Your bloodlust dishonors the memory of my son. I strove to teach Tefnak mercy and forgiveness, and you seek to undermine those virtues with your wicked desire for vengeance.”

Aknadin looked wounded at this.

“You are to leave for Memphis as soon as the dead are buried,” the Pharaoh went on. “And I shall expect you to take up that duty with a much more temperate hand.”

The Guardian gritted his teeth and lowered his head. “As you wish, my king.”

Suddenly, fatigue gripped the Pharaoh. He fell back into his throne, then waved his hand dismissively to his court. “Go now — all of you,” he said weakly. “My son and I wish to grieve our fallen kin in peace.”


	18. Hands

Atem kept his head low, carefully watching his footfalls on the steep, rocky slope. Every once in a while, he would flick his eyes up to see his father’s cloak billowing behind as he led the way up the winding path toward the top of the Thebes Necropolis. The image conjured within Atem a memory of following this very same path nearly ten years earlier, after his mother had been laid to rest. Back then, it had been his brother’s back that Atem watched as he climbed, and the path had seemed somehow softer — less jagged and worn. Now, he struggled to even maintain his balance among the shifting sand and stone.

When they finally reached the summit, instead of looking out over the Nile and the city below, Atem found himself turning back, squinting against the evening light into the shadow-strewn Valley of the Kings. At the bottom, the line of his brother’s mourners had just begun to disperse, kicking up clouds of dust as they made their way back down the path toward the city.

“Come, Atem.” His father’s voice finally summoned his eyes eastward. “Sit with me.”

With a deep breath, Atem climbed up the last embankment, revealing to him the city of Thebes. Even though this was only a small part of the Egyptian kingdom, it somehow seemed larger than ever — stretching out as far as the eye could see, still teeming with life and spirit even as the daylight hours dwindled. 

Atem looked away and moved toward where his father sat on a large flat stone nearby. The Pharaoh was as still as a statue, moving only his eyes as he surveyed his dominion. Atem lowered himself quietly to the edge of the stone, careful not to disturb his father’s musings.

“This will be yours someday.”

The words alone were almost enough to send Atem’s blood running cold. It had only been two weeks since Tefnak and Meriti’s passing, and while the court had been whispering incessantly about the new line of succession, Atem had somehow managed to prevent such thoughts from infecting his mind. Now, with his father’s utterance, there was no denying it. One day, Atem would become Pharaoh.

“Are you ready to accept that responsibility?”

Atem looked up to see his father staring hard at him. At first, Atem had intended to give his father the answer he was looking for — that he was prepared to ascend the throne, to become a god among men. But looking into his father’s eyes, he knew he could not lie. Slowly, Atem shook his head.

The Pharaoh’s face softened with a smile. “I have always appreciated your honesty, Atem,” he said. “But we must work at once to change that. I do not know how many years I have left, and I still have many lessons to teach you.”

Atem found himself growing almost indignant at his father’s words. After having Tefnak and Meriti ripped mercilessly from the world of the living, it felt like an insult to even think that the gods might try to take away his father as well.

“Tell me, my son,” Aknamkanon said softly. “What is it you fear most about becoming Pharaoh?”

Atem straightened his brow and turned to look out over the river below, its placid surface streaked with orange in the sunsetting light. “So many people. So many lives to watch over.” He swallowed hard. “How do you know whether or not you’re making the right decisions for them?”

His father made a low sound. “I won’t lie to you,” he said, “sometimes you won’t know. Sometimes, you may find yourself faced with a choice that seems dire no matter the outcome. But you must not let yourself be paralyzed by fear of the unknown. It is infinitely more dangerous to make no decision at all.”

His father’s candor somehow both comforted and disturbed him. For years, Atem had been following directions and bowing to traditions with little resistance: wear this garment, study these scrolls, marry this woman. It seemed strange that at any moment, he might be expected to be the one giving orders.

“But above all, my son,” his father went on, “you must surround yourself with trustworthy advisors. With wise confidants at your side, you will never have to make a difficult choice alone. Those you name as your governors can be all the difference between a prosperous reign and a living nightmare.”

Atem looked up and gave a shallow nod of understanding. His father smiled and turned his gaze away.

“Speaking of confidants,” he said, “how have things been between you and your wife?”

Atem felt his stomach tighten with unease. In truth, things with Satiah hadn’t changed much since their wedding night. They were still sleeping separately, and, if it was even possible, it seemed they were exchanging fewer words than ever. “We haven’t spoken much since … everything happened.”

Aknamkanon nodded, looking back. “That is to be expected. She has suffered a loss as well.”

Atem was surprised by this. It seemed odd to hold up her father’s dismissal from the palace as equivalent to the deaths of two family members. But his father remained quiet for a long time, gazing down at Atem as if willing him to remember everything that had happened to her in the last month — the death of her brother, the humiliation suffered by her father, the stripping of their  _ ka _ … the quiet, shivering tears she had shed on their wedding night. And how could he have forgotten so quickly? That Satiah had been there, standing outside the infirmary where Meriti drew his last breath? Atem felt guilt settle thickly on his shoulders, knowing she had likely witnessed the very moment the child had crossed over into the afterlife.

“You should speak with her,” his father urged. “Silence only causes pain to fester.”

Atem nodded again, this time more for himself than his father. He’d convinced himself that giving Satiah space was a good thing — that she might have even  _ wanted  _ to be at arm’s length after everything that had happened. But his father’s words, as usual, put things in a different perspective.

“Atem, there is one more thing I wanted to speak with you about.”

Atem turned, his eyes falling to his father’s chest, where he cradled the golden pyramid around his neck.

“I’m sure this comes as no surprise, but I have spoken with the Guardians, and it has been agreed that you will inherit the Millennium Ring.”

Atem felt cold needles prickle along his skin. 

“You should spend some time preparing,” his father went on. “The Ceremony will take place in one week.”

* * *

For the third time in as many days, Satiah found herself awoken by noonday sun. She scrunched her knees up and hugged tight to herself to make sure she wasn’t still dreaming. Her sleep patterns had been thrown into complete disarray since the death of the crown prince and his son, causing her to toss and turn during the night, only to be plagued with fatigue in the waking hours. She knew she was beginning to lose control of this malaise, a fact which surely hadn’t escaped the notice of those around her either. 

Slowly, Satiah rolled over, unsurprised to find her eyes met with an empty bedchamber. Recently, she only saw her husband at the few meals she could bring herself to attend. Sometimes they would turn in together for the night, sharing stolen glances before slipping into their separate sleeping arrangements. Other times, Atem might retreat to the garden instead, returning to their bedchamber hours later. Satiah would often pretend to be asleep, listening to his soft footfalls and deep sighs as he settled in for the night. But always, he was gone before she awoke.

The door suddenly rattled open, and Satiah forced herself to sit up in bed as her handmaiden entered the room. These days, it seemed Tuya only ever wore a worried expression, and today was no different. She swept into the room carrying a tray of breakfast food and drink, setting it lightly on the end of the bed before stepping back with her hands on her hips.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said in a motherly tone.

Satiah forced a smile and reached out to take up the cup of tea sitting on the tray. “Thank you.”

Tuya cocked her head to the side and tried to replace the look of worry with one of sympathy, but it didn’t work. “Before you ask … there were no messages this morning.”

Satiah concealed her disappointment with a sip of hot tea, but the liquid burned her tongue, causing her to grimace. It had been well over two weeks since her father was sent away from the palace, and she hadn’t received a single letter or message in that whole time. She’d heard through the gossip at court that, despite the protests of one specific High Priest, her father had still been allowed to take up his new post at the Karnak archives. But so far, Satiah had been unable to muster the will to visit him there.

Tuya lowered herself to the edge of the bed. “Perhaps you should go to Karnak yourself,” she urged, as if reading Satiah’s mind. “It might do your heart some good to be amongst the gods.”

Satiah stared into her tea, watching the steam rise into the air like curling white fingers. She turned to Tuya and flashed a stiff smile. “Thank you for the provisions,” she said, raising the cup. “You can go now. I’ll ready myself for the day.”

The worry returned to Tuya’s face, but she simply patted Satiah’s knee and left the room in silence. When she was alone again, Satiah placed the cup of tea back on the tray and forced herself to rise as well, moving across the room to her vanity. She sat before it and took up a comb, running it lazily through her tangled hair. 

As she did so, her thoughts drifted briefly to her wedding gift — the elaborate headdress and its accompanying ivory comb, crafted in Sekhmet’s image. Beautiful as they were, Satiah couldn’t even remember what had become of the items in the days since the wedding. She looked across the room briefly to the pile of gifts leaning against the wall, but she could not see the small box among them. With an apathetic sigh, Satiah returned to running her old comb through her tresses.

A moment later, the door creaked again, and Satiah turned. “Tuya—” She froze when her eyes fell not upon her handmaiden, but her husband. “Oh — I’m sorry.”

Atem smiled and shook his head. For a long time, he stood just inside the door, simply gazing at her. His pensive stare conjured strange feelings within her — a stirring sensation, as if he’d somehow entered her mind and was trying to keep her lonely thoughts company.

She wrenched her eyes away, catching sight of the strewn sheets and breakfast tray still lying on the bed. Embarrassed, she apologized again, standing to tidy her mess. She picked up the tray and placed it on the table across from the bed. When she looked up, Atem was moving further into the room; she avoided his eyes as he drew closer, until he was in almost the exact position and proximity as he’d been on their wedding night.

Satiah drew in a deep breath and pulled a hand into her waist, pressing down to quiet her fluttering stomach. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his own arm lift with intent, and her flutters grew to an unfettered shiver as he took her hand loosely in his. She blinked and finally let her gaze drift back up, only to see his attention was now downturned to where he was gently cradling her fingers in his palm. His brow was slowly creasing, his eyes flicking back and forth as if he was searching for words. Satiah made no movement at all, even as he gripped tighter and ran his thumb across the top of her hand.

“My prince—”

Satiah recoiled her hand and looked up to see Mahad standing in the open doorway. A blush came rushing to his cheeks as he realized the moment he’d just walked in on.

“Forgive me, your highnesses,” he said, bowing slightly. “Prince Atem, the Conclave is ready for you in the training complex.”

Satiah cast her husband a sidelong glance, surprised to see him looking much more composed than she felt. Atem gave his friend a nod of acknowledgement, after which Mahad quickly took his leave. Once alone, Atem looked down at Satiah’s hands, which were clenched up into her middle again. With a tortured smile, he lowered his head and swept toward the door. Even as he disappeared into the hall beyond, Satiah could still feel her hand glowing hotly from his touch.

...

Satiah did not see her husband again until dinner, which she made a point to attend this time. In her solitude, the sparks of curiosity she felt about their earlier encounter had since been stoked into a crackling fire. She’d spent the day chasing her thoughts in circles, wondering what had driven him to express such unprompted tenderness. But by the time she’d made her way down to the great hall, she found it unexpectedly filled with excited chatter. 

As she entered, she saw Atem sitting at one end of the table, flanked by Mahad and half a dozen other lesser priests and priestesses of the Royal Conclave. Each had a goblet in their hand, and between them on the table sat a huge carafe of wine. Their faces betrayed clear signs of intoxication, flaring red on their cheeks and setting a glaze over their eyes. Stranger still, however, was the smile she saw tugging at the prince’s lips as he ran his fingers along a glint of gold hanging around his neck — the Millennium Ring.

Satiah concealed herself behind a column and watched the situation unfold. One of the priests sitting near Atem raised a goblet. “Let us celebrate our fallen brother and commander, who met his end fighting bravely on the battlefield. May we all hope for such honorable deaths!” The other spellcasters echoed the sentiment with enthusiasm, raising their glasses to toast and drink.

“And let us lend our strength to the new crown prince, as he prepares to inherit the Millennium Ring!” cried another priest. All banged their fists on the table while they drank again from their cups. 

Satiah felt the spark in her heart slowly dwindling as the priests continued to celebrate the impending rise of their new leader. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised by the news — it had always been her husband’s birthright to one day become Guardian of a Millennium Item, even before the death of his brother. But deep down, she still harbored an undeniable fear of the Items — especially when she considered the lengths to which Bakura was willing to go to get his hands on one. Even with the future clouded as it was, there was one thing about which Satiah was absolutely certain: that there was no shortage of men like Bakura, waiting in the wings for their chance to seize the mystifying power of the Millennium Items.

Satiah left the great hall almost as quickly as she’d entered it, with the sounds of celebration still echoing behind her. Ignoring pangs of hunger, she made her way back to her room and readied herself for bed. But predictably, even after she slipped into her sleeping gown and settled beneath the sheets, sleep refused to come to her. She was surprised to find her thoughts were not tortured by death and sorrow, as they usually were, but rather gentle touches and calm smiles. The dissonance of these images made her feel uneasy.

Some time passed — perhaps moments, perhaps hours — during which she flickered between waking and sleeping. It was during a particularly fitful dream that she found herself awoken fully by the sound of the door opening and closing. Satiah restrained herself from looking over her shoulder, instead listening for soft, familiar footsteps. What came instead was a clumsy clattering of feet across the tiles, accompanied by heavy, heedless breaths. The prince was well and drunk, she knew — and no surprise with the way his friends were pouring his wine. 

Following another moment of stumbling feet came the sound of clothes being removed and tossed carelessly on the floor. He stood still for a moment, and in the quiet, Satiah could hear the muted knell of the Ring still swinging around his neck. She curled into herself and pulled the covers tighter around her, closing her eyes again.

The footsteps returned, this time more calm and purposeful — and now, drawing nearer to her. When the weight on the feathered mattress shifted, her eyes finally flew open. She pushed herself up onto her forearm and looked over her shoulder to see Atem reclining on the bed beside her, stretching one hand in her direction.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

He stopped and blinked his glazed eyes, looking almost as if he’d been woken from a dream himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just — I wanted… I wanted to…”

Satiah turned further, looking at him expectantly. But he just heaved a heavy sigh and dropped his arm to the bed between them. Her eyes were drawn downward as the Ring chimed again.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, making a move to leave.

“No.” Frustrated, Satiah sat up fully and threw the sheets off her, exiting the bed from the opposite side. “Sleep,” she ordered, pushing a pillow in his direction, “and dream of a woman who will give you what you want.”

He looked hurt, but Satiah turned quickly away and stalked across the room toward the bench below the window. Exhaling sharply, she laid back on it and pulled the sheet over herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Atem drop his head heavily to his own pillow. It was only a few moments more before his ragged breaths turned deep and wistful with sleep, but she continued to watch him for a long time afterward, her heart still thumping loudly in her ears. She struggled to find meaning amongst all her thrashing emotions, feeling somehow both enraptured and perplexed by the prince’s sudden change in demeanor. Was there some deeper intent behind his actions, or had the wine simply made him a fool?

As the moon crawled invariably across the sky, Satiah never did find answers to these questions, nor did sleep return to her. Instead, a haze of delirium settled over her as morning fast approached. Strange, somatic sensations took her, and to her ears came a muted scraping sound — like metal on stone. Then, a flash filled her vision — coming from the second of two windows further down the wall. She blinked, and what she saw next made her think she  _ was _ dreaming — Bakura climbed up and perched himself on the window frame, an iron knife clenched between his teeth.

Satiah lay frozen on the bench, watching behind the billowing curtains as he took the knife from his mouth and stepped down to the floor, creeping quietly toward the table at the center of the room. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed her presence yet, his gaze occupied instead searching the surface of the table for something — the Ring, Satiah knew. Carefully, he lifted the corner of a papyrus with the edge of his blade to look underneath, then mouthed a curse and set it back down. Soon after, his eyes were drawn to the bed a few paces away, upon which Atem was still sleeping peacefully. 

With the thief’s gaze turned away at last, Satiah allowed herself a slow, deep, steady breath. She  _ must _ be dreaming, she thought. How else could a dead man be walking? But as she watched the handle of the dagger spinning in his palm, she remembered — even after a week of searching, Bakura’s body had never been found.

Noiselessly, she swung her feet down to touch the ground, then let her upper body follow, careful to conceal the movement of her shadow with the swelling of the curtains. Still crouched, she slipped out of the moonlight and into the strip of darkness between the windows, watching with eyes wide as Bakura made for Atem’s bed. She followed as close as she dared, considering her next move. It would only be a matter of time before he would see the Ring around Atem’s neck, and with the blade Bakura was brandishing, he would surely make short work of the prince. She could scream for the guards, but by the time they arrived, Bakura could easily close the distance and drive the blade into her heart instead. As she passed the table, she, too, scoured it for anything she could use as a weapon — but only loose papyri and discarded games littered the surface. 

When she looked back at Bakura, she stopped. The thief had reached the side of the bed now; he peered down at the sleeping prince with a twisted smile on his face. He clicked his tongue, then lifted his blade and twirled it in both hands. As the iron caught the moonlight, a dark thought struck Satiah like a lightning bolt. She could simply turn — turn and run. She could let the dagger sink into her husband’s flesh — let the  _ ka  _ leave his body, and let his killer escape with the cursed Ring. If the prince died, she would be free — free of these people who had stolen her spirit and made her slave to their will, free of this arrangement that had stripped her of her right to marry for love.

But a life would be gone. Blood would be spilled. And that blood would be on her hands.

As Bakura gripped the handle of the dagger and brought his arm back in preparation to strike, Satiah’s body moved on its own. She surged forward and reached — desperate, repentant — closing her fists and feeling the momentum of fate stop short, held taut by the balance of her body and all its defiant sinew. Below the blade, now clasped in her trembling, blood-soaked hands, a red-flecked face stared up at her, its two violet eyes as round and eclipsed as the moon. Then, a new pair of eyes turned on her — dark eyes, darker than the blood that was now dripping from her fingers to stain the white sheets.

“Stupid woman!” Bakura hissed. He shrugged his shoulders forward to break her grip, then whipped his elbow back into her jaw, sending her stumbling into the table behind. She turned to soften the impact, her arms sending papyri flying into the moonlit air. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bakura moving in and raising his blade. Desperately, Satiah closed her hand around the closest hard thing she could find and spun, whipping her arm out at her attacker.

To her surprise, he cried out, then dropped the blade and brought his hands to cradle the side of his face. Between his fingers came a trickle of blood, and Satiah looked down to see clenched in her own bloody fist was the comb Atem had given her on their wedding night. Bakura pulled his hand away, revealing two sharp gashes beneath his right eye — Sekhmet’s fangs would leave him scarred forever. 

“You’ll regret that,” Bakura spat. Satiah, still pinned against the table, flinched as Bakura lurched forward and caught her throat in one hand, squeezing hard on her windpipe. She dropped the comb and grabbed at his wrist, but even upon sinking her nails deep into his flesh, he refused to let go. Face twisted with rage, he lifted her up off the table, sending darkness closing in around her eyes. Finally, after several gulping breaths, Bakura’s hand left her throat. She braced herself at the sight of stone rushing up beneath her; the impact sent what little air she had left rushing out of her lungs.

Gasping, Satiah blinked the stars from her eyes and struggled to sit up, just in time to see Atem surging out of his bed, reaching wisely for the discarded dagger on the ground. But Bakura was too quick — he stomped down on Atem’s outstretched hand, causing the prince’s body to crumple. With his victim trapped beneath his heel, Bakura brought his arm across his body and struck Atem with a sharp backhand that sent him tumbling against his bed frame, dazed.

Satiah felt like she was sucking air through a reed as she tried desperately to fill her lungs enough to scream for the guards. Instead, she was forced to watch as Bakura snapped up the knife and sauntered over to his stunned prey. He knelt, almost reverently, before the prince — then grinned and drove the dagger to the hilt into Atem’s abdomen.

“NO!” Air finally returned to Satiah’s lungs, and she turned fearfully away from the sight, screaming: “Help! Guards!  _ Please— _ !”

But it was too late. When she turned back, Bakura was already standing, the Millennium Ring clutched greedily in his hands. He turned to look at where she lay, and his grin grew even wider as he touched the Ring to his forehead in thanks before ambling lazily toward the window from which he came.

Without another thought, Satiah stood and raced to where her husband lay writhing, his hand clutched around the hilt of the dagger. Clearly in shock, he was pulling on it. Not a single sound passed his clenched teeth as the blade unsheathed itself from his flesh, hot blood rushing in to fill the void. Atem dropped the dagger to his side, and instinctively, Satiah pressed her palms onto the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding. She pulled his own limp hands up to assist in the effort, but it was no use — blood rushed forth from his flesh like a fresh spring, decorating the floor with rivers of red. 

Panicked, Satiah looked up to see Bakura’s shadow cut across Atem’s horror-struck eyes. The thief laughed as he hopped up onto the windowsill, steadying himself with a hand on either side of it in preparation to make his escape. Satiah gritted her teeth hard, then took up the discarded blade and stood — whipping her arm back and loosing the dagger toward the fleeing thief.

The dagger sang a single sharp note as it sailed through the night air, the tune cut short when the blade sank deep into the limestone wall beside the window. A jangle of gold followed, and Bakura stopped, his wild-eyed gaze turning to see the knifeblade lodged between the bottom arch of the Ring and its triangular centerpiece. Bakura pulled on it, but the crossguard of the dagger had pinned the Ring squarely against the wall, all the way to the hilt. With pure rage in his eyes, he turned back to Satiah and continued pulling on the blade, to no avail, until finally the sound of footsteps and shifting armor filled the hallway beyond. Cursing, Bakura released his treasure, just as the doors to the bedchamber burst open. Silently, the thief opened his arms to the night sky and sailed down into the dark below.


	19. Pride

By the time Satiah regained full control of her mind, the sun was already beginning to rise. It took her a long time to recognize her surroundings, and even longer still to recall why she was there. As she looked around, she found herself alone in her old room in the visitor’s wing, sitting on a bench beside the window. She could feel herself shaking, her arms loosely crossed around her middle. 

She lifted her hands and looked down into her trembling palms to see that they were wrapped in fresh bandages. The white linen was already staining a faint rust color in the center, and her mind was suddenly flooded with flashes of memories — the sting of a blade passing between her hands, the cool ridges of the ivory comb slick with blood, the worried faces of healers cleaning and bandaging her wounds. With a sharp inhale, she dropped her hands, revealing more red stains splashed across the front of her white dress, from bodice to hem.

It came crashing back in an instant — the image of her husband’s blood rushing forth and pooling thickly on the tile floor. Her breath caught in her throat as more memories built themselves back up in her mind — ending with Bakura’s devilish smile as he took up the Millennium Ring. Satiah clutched her chest, trying to force her lungs to pull in air, feeling almost as choked as she had when she was lying on the bedchamber floor just a few hours earlier.

At the sound of the door opening, her heart suddenly hammered with panic. When Isis stepped into the dawning light, Satiah let slip a shuddering sigh. Isis stood rigid in the door a moment, holding a swathe of fabric to her chest. Then, quickly, she swept closer with her free arm outstretched; Satiah stood to accept the woman’s urgent embrace.

“Atem?” Satiah hissed into Isis’s ear.

The priestess pulled away, her calm eyes suddenly a thrashing ocean. “He is stable,” she said, and Satiah let out another sigh of relief. “He is very weak, but the healers are hopeful he will make a full recovery — with time and patience.”

“Thank the gods,” Satiah said.

“What about you, Princess?” Isis whispered, taking one of Satiah’s hands in hers. “I heard you were injured as well.”

“It’s nothing.”

Isis clicked her tongue, then lowered both herself and Satiah onto the bench. She laid the bundle of fabric in her lap and brought Satiah’s hands to rest on top. “I don’t know how I didn’t see this,” she whispered. “I had been so sure … so _certain_ that Bakura was dead. How could I have been so foolish…?”

Satiah’s stomach turned at the mention of Bakura. “What of the thief?” Satiah asked. “Was he apprehended?”

Isis looked up, pursing her lips. “No. He escaped, wounding several guardsmen on the way out of the city.”

Satiah squeezed Isis’s hands, making her frustrations apparent. She cleared her throat to temper herself. “Can I see my husband?”

Isis’s eyes softened. “Of course,” she said, releasing her grip to take up the bundle in her lap. “Here — I brought you a clean dress.”

“Thank you.” Satiah took the garment.

“I’ll be just outside when you’re ready.”

Isis bowed her head and floated out of the room, leaving Satiah in deafening silence. She found herself suddenly smothered by creeping guilt. Among the flood of memories returning to her, she now recalled clearly the darkest of them: that with Bakura’s blade hovering inches above the prince, when she had faltered and had almost let her husband be murdered before her eyes, without doing a single thing to stop it. Even though Atem had survived, the consequences of her hesitance were now cascading down into reality and carving the way for a sinister future. How could she look her husband in the eye, knowing she had very nearly condemned him to death?

With a deep breath, she forced herself to rise and remove her blood-stained clothes. She stepped into the new dress, hoping the clean fabric would restore some confidence, but her legs still shook with each step as she moved toward the door. Careful not to reinjure her hands, she reached out and pulled the door open, peering into the shaded hall to see Isis waiting patiently for her.

As she stepped over the threshold, Satiah’s eyes were immediately drawn over her shoulder toward the sound of footsteps. Her heart thumped up into her throat again at the sight of the Pharaoh emerging from the royal living quarters, followed by Mahad. As they drew closer, she saw anguish straining the king’s face, and she felt another knife of guilt twisting in her gut. Even worse, however, was the look of relief that took him as he set his eyes on her.

He stopped walking for a moment, then came rushing toward her and caught her in a tight embrace. Satiah seized up, paralyzed by conflicting waves of warm and cold. When he reached up and pressed his hand into the back of her head, she forced herself to return his affections, gripping loosely to his robes until he finally released her. Even in the dark, she could see the sparkle of tears welling in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he uttered, still cradling her head in his hand. “I am forever indebted to you.”

Shame burned hot on Satiah’s cheeks. The Pharaoh released her, stepping back and taking a deep breath. He stood still for a moment, and she noticed that his tears still hadn’t fallen, simply left brimming along his dark, sparse lashes. Finally, he turned and started down the hallway again. Mahad trailed after, giving Satiah a strong and condoling nod as he passed.

She watched them disappear into the darkness, turning back only when Isis reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. Satiah followed as the priestess led the way toward the prince’s bedchamber, which now had two guards posted outside it. Isis stopped, opened the door and stood aside, offering an encouraging smile as Satiah moved into the room.

Immediately, her memories grew even sharper in the familiar surroundings. The first thing she saw was the vague shape of her husband’s body lying on his bed at the back of the room, cast in cool dawn light and partially concealed by Shimon’s hunched form. The prince was propped up on a set of pillows, his head lolled lightly to one side. Beside the bed, two servants were currently hard at work scrubbing dried blood out of the tiles.

Satiah swallowed hard as she moved further into the room, catching sight of the bench strewn with sheets and the table still sitting crooked from where she’d collided with it. The servants were the first to notice her approach, and when they stopped their scrubbing and stood to leave, Shimon turned as well. His face set with pity as he quickly moved to meet her. For a while, no words came to either of them, and in the pervading silence Satiah forced herself to look at her husband. 

The prince’s eyes were closed, and if his bare chest hadn’t been rising and falling with gentle breaths, she might have thought he was gone from this world. His skin, which usually glowed a rich bronze, was now almost as pale as alabaster. He wore no tunic, nor any of his usual adornments, but his lower abdomen was wrapped tightly in strips of white linen. Just like her hands, a thin stain of blood was beginning to show itself, slightly below and to the left of his navel. His hands clutched loosely around a sheet that covered his bottom half.

“He’s been given a light sedative for the pain,” Shimon whispered, summoning Satiah’s attention to him. “But you should be able to speak with him for a bit.” He looked over his shoulder at the prince. “He’s been asking for you since he came to.”

Again, guilt thrashed within her. “Thank you for looking after him.”

Shimon smiled. “The Guardians will take turns watching over the room,” he said. “You should both get some rest.”

Satiah nodded, and Shimon returned it with a light bow before taking his leave. 

She stood in silence for a long time, her eyes settling heavily on the caked stain of blood on the floor. Her guilt must have been palpable, as Atem finally stirred on his own a moment later, drawing in a long, ragged breath and casting his glazed eyes in her direction. Slowly, a delirious smile spread on his features, and Satiah felt her heart nearly breaking at the sight of it.

She bit down hard on her bottom lip and swept in to sit carefully on the bed beside him. She knew she was wholly undeserving of his peaceful smile, which remained despite his struggle to hold her gaze. And yet, she found herself inspired by it all the same, as if maybe — just maybe, there was hope for redemption yet.

Unbidden, and against her better judgement, Satiah reached out to stroke her fingers across the skin just above his bandages. He winced, but not from pain, she knew — rather from the unexpected tenderness of her touch, which surprised even herself. This may have been the first time she’d touched him with the intent to convey any emotion, let alone something like affection.

With some effort, he took hold of her hand and brought it to rest palm-up on his chest. He held it as gently as one might cradle a baby bird fallen from the nest and stroked his thumb along the line of bandages running from her index finger to the heel of her hand. Satiah surprised herself again when she felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. He closed his fingers around hers, and as if on cue, her tears cascaded into shining rivers down her face. 

As soon as it had come, the smile left Atem’s lips, and he lifted his free hand to wipe her cheek. “Why is it whenever you are with me, you are brought to tears?” he asked, his voice low and breathy. “If I had the strength, I would make it so that you would never weep again.”

Satiah choked back a sob and leaned, trembling, into his hand. Even though his body had nearly been drained of its essence, there was still so much warmth in his touch, and it gave Satiah new life to feel him sharing it with her. But her tears flowed on, knowing that he wouldn’t have smiled if he knew the dark secret in her heart. 

She forced herself to stifle her sobs, wanting desperately to preserve his hope, however misguided it was, for as long as possible. Slowly, she rose and lifted the sheet, then lowered her body down beside him on the bed. He followed her with his eyes as she came to rest her chin on his shoulder. She wrapped one hand around his arm and clutched it close to her, causing his smile to return.

Still biting back tears, she lifted her free hand and tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. He closed his eyes, and almost instantly, his breaths fell into a deep and steady rhythm, as if he had been waiting for this closeness before finally letting sleep take him. Satiah found herself giving into the pull of slumber as well, even though she knew that when they awoke, nothing would ever be the same.

* * *

Satiah quickly discovered that caring for her husband during his recovery was not at all easy. For the first few days, she had to help him with even the most basic of tasks, like eating and sitting up. He needed the assistance of two servants in addition to herself just to move between rooms, and bathing was a challenge all its own. But whenever she found herself frustrated by her duties, Satiah forced herself to imagine how Atem must feel — reduced to little more than an invalid and in the constant care of a woman he’d only just met a few weeks prior. These thoughts, coupled with her lingering guilt, were more than enough motivation to push through any awkwardness or discomfort she felt.

After the first week, her patience and his perseverance began to pay off, with Atem’s condition seeing steady improvement. Shimon had fashioned for him a sturdy wooden crutch, and with it he was now able to walk almost the entire length of the royal living quarters on his own. He still needed Satiah’s help with more challenging obstacles, like stairs, but he seemed eager to gain his independence again — a fact she found both relieving and worrying. She noticed very quickly that he had a tendency to push himself beyond his limits, and the only times he’d experienced setbacks were when she left him to his own devices.

Overall, however, they were both adapting well to their new reality, and Satiah was surprised by how quickly she’d grown accustomed to sleeping beside him. The bed was large enough for them to each have their own separate spaces, but she often found herself waking up with her head on his shoulder or his arm thrown around her middle. She was always quick to peel herself away from these positions, hiding the glow of blush in her cheeks.

Mornings were usually the most difficult part of the day — Atem was often stiff from a night spent sedentary, and his bandages needed to be changed not long after he woke. To his credit, he was always a good sport about it, despite Satiah’s less than gentle bedside manner. After rising and helping him dress, they would leave their bedchamber, bound for the gardens to get in an early walk before breakfast.

But what bothered Satiah the most about mornings was Atem’s insistence that he stop and speak with the Guardian standing watch outside their door. Since the attack, the Sacred Guardians and other trusted members of the Conclave had begun taking turns guarding the royal chambers, with at least one spellcaster in the hall and two more patrolling the garden below. Each morning, Atem would check in with whoever was on duty, and retrieve from them his new most prized possession — the Millennium Ring.

During the first few nights, it was everything Satiah could do to convince Atem not to wear the Ring while he slept anymore. He’d eventually given in, and in the evenings before going to bed, he would entrust the Item to whomever was guarding the room that night. But in the morning, after the haze of sleep had worn off him, Satiah could see desire kindling behind his gaze — a desire not unlike the one she had seen in Bakura’s black eyes after he’d almost gotten away with the Ring.

Satiah knew it had more to do with pride than anything, for Atem was not _truly_ a Sacred Guardian yet — after the attack, his initiation ceremony had been postponed indefinitely. She feared that this was the true reason behind his eagerness to get back on his feet — that he was desperate to repair his broken ego and take up the mantle left by his departed brother. Often during the day, she would catch him gazing down at the glinting gold, or spinning one of its tapered spikes idly between his fingers, and it made her uneasy.

Today was no different. They emerged from the bedchamber to find Mahad sitting outside the door, and Atem didn’t even greet his friend before extending his hand for the Ring. Looking puzzled, Mahad hesitated a moment, then stood.

“Good morning Prince — Princess,” he said warmly. 

Atem jolted as if woken from a trance, pulling his hand back. “Hello, Mahad,” he replied. “It’s nice to see you again — but isn’t this your second shift this week?”

Mahad smiled. “Yes, my prince. Shimon was feeling a bit tired, so he asked that I take his shift.”

“How kind of you,” Satiah said.

He nodded graciously, then slowly extended the Ring in Atem’s direction.

Atem grimaced as he took the Item and slung it around his neck. “Any word from the scouts?”

Mahad shook his head. “The hounds picked up his scent last night, but the trail ran cold at the river again,” he explained. “He’s smart — not staying in one place for very long.”

Atem made a low sound. “Thank you, my friend,” he said. “Let us speak more at breakfast.”

Mahad bowed his head, and a moment later, Atem started down the hall toward the terrace. Satiah followed close, keeping her arm elevated slightly should he need to grab on. He didn’t take it until they reached the stairs, which he descended slowly, one at a time, alternating between favoring his crutch and leaning on Satiah for support. As they leveled off, he was quick to release her arm, and he set off with purpose through the shaded gardens. 

Satiah dropped back a step, giving him the space he needed to stretch his legs. He was doing very well, his strides long, his footfalls confident. Soon, they rounded the corner toward the Sacred Lake, and Satiah found herself slipping into a daze, her mind hypnotized by the way the Millennium Ring chimed with each step.

It happened quick — Atem’s leg buckled, sending him tumbling toward the earth. Still distracted, Satiah failed to react in time. His knees hit the ground, his upper body following, and he just managed to get one arm out to brace his fall while his crutch clattered into the dirt. Gasping, Satiah rushed forward, taking hold of his shoulders to help him into an upright position again. He groaned as he sat back on his heels, one hand falling to clutch at his side.

“I’m sorry,” Satiah breathed.

Atem gritted his teeth and waved his arm at her. “I’m fine,” he said, immediately trying to stand again. Satiah hesitated, but he seemed intent to be on his feet — with or without her help. Quickly, she took him beneath the arms and hoisted him up, then led him over toward the Lake, where he spun and sat down hard on the edge of it. He panted and snapped his hand to his side again. Satiah gently pulled his tunic aside, inspecting the bandages beneath to make sure he hadn’t reopened his wound. Thankfully, there were no signs of blood on the white linen.

She stood back and placed her hands on her hips. “We should get you back inside—”

“No,” he snapped. “I just need to rest.”

“You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“I don’t need you to coddle me. You’re not my mother.”

Satiah felt a whip of anger crack across her heart. “But I am your wife.”

His eyes flew up to her at this, and his face softened with guilt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m just … tired of leaning on you.”

Satiah sighed deeply. “Well, I have bad news for you then,” she said, lowering herself down beside him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A tight smile flickered on his face, but it was quickly replaced with a grimace. She knew he was fighting the same anger and defiance which had driven him to follow his brother into danger’s embrace. After a quiet moment, Satiah reached out and placed a hand over his where it lay gripped at the edge of the Lake, causing him to glance at her, eyebrows raised. “We never talked about … everything that happened,” she said quietly.

He sighed and looked back into the gardens. “What is there to say?” he replied. “My kin were murdered in cold blood.”

Satiah concealed her dismay with a hum of agreement. She turned her head away as well, watching two songbirds building a nest in a nearby sycamore tree.

“I do find myself wondering, though,” he went on, unprompted. “…Why? Why would he target my brother?”

Satiah felt strangely accused by the words, but when he looked back at her, his eyes were soft — almost pleading. Part of her wanted to confess it all — that she’d been suspicious of Bakura from the start, and that his fury had likely been stoked by the death of her brother. But what good would it do now to reopen those wounds, when there were still so many left to heal? 

She cleared her throat lightly. “Did he tell you why he wanted the Ring?”

Atem shook his head, darting his eyes away in recollection. “He was crazed … Out of his mind. Sputtering something about … Ramesses. And Amenhotep.” 

Satiah’s brow creased. At first, she’d thought Bakura’s choice of venue for their confrontation had just been out of convenience — there was little chance of being disturbed at the deserted and crumbling mortuary complex. But now, it seemed eerily relevant.

“Perhaps he was looking for something,” Satiah surmised. “Isn’t that the power of the Ring? To lead the bearer to his deepest desire?”

Atem dropped his chin to his chest, reaching up to run his fingers along the Ring’s tines. After a pensive pause, he dropped it and huffed a laugh. “What use is it trying to explain the actions of a madman?” he said, looking forward again.

But Satiah felt thoroughly unsatisfied by this reply. Her thoughts were already tumbling, searching for answers to these questions as if they might form some sort of shield against Bakura’s wrath. But even the questions themselves seemed unfinished — like a puzzle with half its pieces missing.

Suddenly, Atem turned his hand over and threaded his fingers with hers. Startled, Satiah looked up to see soft concern painted on his features again. “What about you…?” he asked, trailing off quietly.

Though she knew the deeper meaning of his words, Satiah could not bring herself to reply.

“You were there,” he went on, his words staggering with reluctance. “You were there, when—”

He was cut short by the sudden sound of shouting — garbled words in a familiar voice, echoing over from the gate nearby. There, the guards were scuffling with someone on the other side.

“Let me in this instant! My daughter is the princess — I must see her at once!”

Satiah surged to her feet when she saw her father pushing against the soldier’s shields, hollering at the top of his lungs. She turned to Atem, whose face flashed with a tortured smile. He nodded, and Satiah immediately set off at a sprint toward the gate, where she skidded to a stop behind the guards.

“Let him in, you fools!”

The soldiers straightened up in surprise, then quickly uncrossed their spears to allow her father to pass. Satiah jumped into his arms, feeling the prickle of his whiskers as he kissed her cheek.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, putting her down and pulling away. “Can you believe — I had to wait a _week_ to hear that my daughter had been attacked? And never a word from the Pharaoh or his silly Guardians! I had to hear it from that little girl — Mana!”

Satiah couldn’t help but grin at this. “I’m fine, Father,” she said, but he took up her hands anyway, inspecting the faded scabs on her palms. “In case it wasn’t apparent, the Pharaoh has been a bit distracted as of late.” She turned, nodding her head to Atem where he sat, still on the edge of the Sacred Lake several yards away. “The killer was after him, not me,” she explained. “And he very nearly succeeded.”

Her father lifted her hands and showered them with kisses. “So brave,” he said. “I’m so happy you’re alright — both of you.” Suddenly, his face deepened with anger. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened?! I was worried sick!”

Satiah huffed. “And what about you?” she said. “It’s been three weeks since you left my side, and not a single letter or message.”

He softened a bit and lowered her hands. “You’re right,” he said. “The truth is, I am plagued with shame for everything that has happened. I still have nightmares about the poor boy… And his mother—! Gods, Satiah. My heart is so heavy. If anything had happened to you, or the prince—”

Satiah pushed forward and hugged him again. “It’s alright, Father. I’m still here — we still have each other.” She pulled away and took his hand. “But enough talk of shame and sorrow. Come — tell me about your new posting.”

Her father smiled and followed as she led the way behind a nearby tree — out of earshot of her husband and the guards. “It’s nothing special,” he said. “I spend most days locked in a cellar transcribing old texts. It’s quite boring, really.”

Satiah hummed her interest. “Well, if that’s the case, then I have a _thrilling_ request for you.”

Metjen’s brow furrowed.

“I need you to search the archives for mentions of Ramesses,” she whispered. “Not the common legends — I’m interested more in the obscurities. Funerary texts, personal accounts from his priests — the like.”

“What’s all this about?” he asked, his eyes floating back toward Atem.

“I’m sure you know by now, but Bakura is still on the move,” Satiah said. “The only thing we know is that he had a particular interest in the myths surrounding Ramesses and Amenhotep. I do not know what power was wielded by the kings of old, but if Bakura were to get his hands on it…”

“I shudder to think,” her father confirmed.

She nodded. “But be discreet for now,” she urged. “The Pharaoh still has many worries on his mind. I do not want him — or his son — to misunderstand my intent.”

“Of course, my dear,” her father said, nodding. Once again, he turned back toward the prince. “He looks afflicted. Has he been treating you poorly?”

Satiah rolled her eyes. “Do you think I would let him?”

Her father grinned, taking up her hands and squeezing them again. “No — not even for a moment.”


	20. Worth

Atem reached blindly into the ceramic box, grabbing another puzzle piece. He ran his fingers along the cool, shaped metal, getting a feel for its ridges and curves. On the table before him sat dozens more of them, piled in groups based on their defining features — some small, some large, some curved, some angular. He noticed, too, how most of them had jagged edges at one or both ends, and he figured this must be the mechanism by which they fit together. 

Each piece was beautifully crafted — and if this were truly a puzzle as Satiah claimed, it was unlike any he had ever seen before. So far, he’d managed to stage a few of the larger pieces together on the surface of the table, but there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to which way they should be facing or what the final form of the object was supposed to be. Finally, after nearly an hour of fiddling with only a handful of the pieces, Atem pushed them forward on the table, leaning back with a sharp sigh. 

The movement brought a sting of pain into his side, only intensifying his frustration. Instinctively, he lifted his hand to touch his bandages, feeling the dull ache of his wound beneath. It was nearing two weeks since the attempt on his life, and the Conclave was no closer to finding his attacker than he was to being fully recovered. Just the thought of Bakura still out there, stalking the kingdom in search of more innocents to terrorize sent a shiver of rage down Atem’s spine.

He leaned his elbows onto the table in front of him and pressed his fingers into his temples. Above his lap, the Millennium Ring swung idly back and forth — taunting him. Here it was, hanging from his neck like a coveted treasure, and yet it seemed the Item couldn’t be further from his grasp. He still hadn’t gotten used to its strange and eerie warmth — like it was somehow alive and had a will of its own. It had yet to ‘speak’ to him, as some of the Guardians had told him it might, but Atem found himself fearing what it would say when it did. Would it judge his heart coldly, and find him unworthy of its graces? Would it reject him, remaining vengeful for what he’d let happen to its previous owner?

Atem found himself reaching out to touch the Ring, but he stopped at the sound of his bedchamber door creaking open. Satiah stepped inside and closed the door behind her, setting a motherly smile on him as she approached. 

“Hiding from me, are you?” she said.

Atem watched the warm light of sunset embracing her as she drew near. Her smile helped to calm his prickling anxiety somewhat, and he reclined in his chair again — more slowly this time. She came around and stood beside him, leaning back on the table and peering down at the piles of glinting metal on the surface. 

“Ah — the fabled puzzle,” she said, picking up a piece and weighing it in her hand. “Doesn’t look like you’ve made any progress — perhaps you’re not so clever after all.”

He smirked, then swiped the piece out of her hand and returned it to the pile she’d stolen it from. “Well I’ll never get anywhere on it with you distracting me,” he quipped back. “Hence the hiding.”

“You know, I’d be a little nicer if I were you,” she chirped. “You’re going to want all the help you can get on this — and need I remind you I  _ almost _ beat you at senet once.”

“Please,” Atem shot back, laughing wryly, “you didn’t have a ghost of a chance. I had you right where I wanted you.”

Satiah bit her lip to hide a smile. Turning slightly, she reached over and ran her fingers along the cover of the box the puzzle had come in. There, she traced the gentle curve of Ramesses’ cartouche.

“I can only imagine what secret this puzzle hides,” she said, her voice a bit whimsical. “Ramesses was well known for his powerful magic. A part of me wishes I could go back in time to witness the  _ ka _ of our forefathers. They say the Great King’s spirit was as fearsome as they come.”

Atem tried to show interest in her musings, but his anxiety soon returned as his thoughts wandered to his own  _ ka _ . While the spirit warriors used by the Pharaohs of old existed now only in tomb paintings, his own would be passed down through the annals of history — forever at the disposal of future kings. He found himself ashamed to have his  _ ka _ measured up against the likes of his father and brother — let alone someone like Ramesses.

Satiah quickly picked up on his brooding. “A  _ ka _ needn’t be fearsome for it to be strong.”

He huffed at her flattery. “That’s easy for you to say.” When he looked up, he was surprised to see the cheer had gone from her features. His heart sank a bit, fearing he had insulted her. But a moment later, she returned her eyes to him, looking almost curious.

“She came to you, didn’t she?” Satiah said, her voice low. “In the temple.”

Atem felt his breath catch in his throat, remembering with stark and sudden clarity the moment his wife’s  _ ka _ had come to his aid. The Shieldmaiden had washed over him like a warm wave, protecting and serving him as if she were his own spirit. 

Atem lowered his head. “Nothing like that has ever happened to me before,” he said. “I didn’t call for her. I don’t know what I said or did that would have summoned her to my side.”

He looked back up when his wife’s hand suddenly fell over his where it lay on the table. “She deemed you worthy,” Satiah said. “You stood against evil and defended those who could not defend themselves. There is no greater evidence of your honor as a duelist — and that is certainly nothing any piece of jewelry could ever reveal.”

Atem dropped his eyes to the Ring around his neck, feeling his heart beating wildly beneath the shining gold. Satiah’s words touched him, but they could not pierce the veil of doubt that had encircled him ever since the happenings at the mortuary temple. 

“It pains me to see you suffering for the sake of this … trinket,” Satiah went on, her voice still a low whisper. “What are you hoping to prove with all this?”

Atem gripped her hand. “I told you once before,” he said firmly. “I have been preparing for this since I was a child. It is my destiny.”

Satiah scoffed and pulled her hand away. “Destiny,” she mocked, “how ridiculous. You must realize by now that you  _ do _ have a choice in all this, Atem. You can choose to lean on this Item like you do your crutch, or you can do as you did that day and face your enemy—”

“Don’t you think I want to?” he snapped. “Don’t you think it is the only thing in this world I want?” Satiah tensed at this, but she kept her eyes locked on him. “The truth is — I’m afraid. Afraid to fail. Again. It still haunts me, waking and dreaming — the blood spilled, the lives stolen. It is everything I can do not to see it all happening again whenever I look into your eyes.”

Suddenly, Satiah took his face in her hands and knelt before him. “Then look into them now,” she whispered, “and see that they are clear.” 

They were. Her amber irises gleamed like still water in the gilded light.

“I refuse to be a reflection of your fears,” she went on. “I will not be your weakness — your crutch. I may have no  _ ka _ , but I am not done fighting. Why should you be?”

She released him and stood abruptly, turning to leave. The sun flickered off her back like lashing flames as she passed by both windows and left the room, pulling the door closed loudly behind her. Atem felt his hand curling into a fist; he brought it down hard on the table with a sharp  _ slam _ , shaking the puzzle pieces loose into a shimmering landslide.

* * *

Satiah hated lurking — almost as much as she hated waiting. She now found herself doing both, standing hidden in the alcove of a window outside the throne room and preparing to ambush the Pharaoh as he finished his governing duties for the day. After her clash with Atem earlier, she’d spent almost an hour pacing the palace, trying to figure out how best to approach the king regarding the ongoing manhunt for Bakura. It was hard enough to speak two words to the Pharaoh over dinner, nevermind cornering him alone, away from his prying Guardians.

Finally, just before the sun was snuffed out for the day, Aknamkanon emerged from the throne room, tailed by his usual throng of viziers and priests. Satiah quickly ducked out of the alcove, ambling toward the group as inconspicuously as she could. 

She smiled wide at the Pharaoh and gave him a gracious nod. “Good evening, your highness.”

“Satiah,” he said, stopping to return her greeting, “how lovely to see you. What brings you to this part of the palace?”

“I was just on my way back from the library,” she lied. “Mana asked my help locating a particularly obscure spell she needed for her studies.”

Aknamkanon smiled. “How kind of you. I suppose you’ll be making your way to the terrace for dinner soon?”

“Indeed,” Satiah confirmed. “Would you care to join me on a walk in the gardens beforehand?”

The Pharaoh looked to his advisors, and for a moment Satiah was worried he might decline. But he waved them onward, then turned and extended his arm to her. Satiah took it, allowing herself to be led down the hallway toward the gardens. 

“Should we fetch Atem to join us?” the Pharaoh asked as they rounded the corner into the darkening courtyard.

Satiah flashed a grimacing smile. “Oh, no,” she said quickly, “he seemed a bit fatigued earlier, so I told him to get some rest. He’ll be down in time for dinner.”

Aknamkanon hummed his understanding, leading the way at a meandering pace down one of the garden’s main paths. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your patience in caring for my son,” he said. “It lightens my heavy heart knowing he is well looked after. Even from afar, I can tell how much good you are doing for him.”

Satiah felt a blush come unexpectedly to her cheeks. “I’m honored to fulfill my wifely duties,” she said.

Aknamkanon released a short laugh. “You don’t have to placate me with platitudes, my dear,” he said. “I know this hasn’t been easy on you. It was one thing for you to marry my son, but another thing entirely for you to become his caretaker.”

Satiah found a smile tugging at her lips. It was nice to hear the Pharaoh being frank for once. “If I’m honest, my king, he is the patient one,” she said. “He makes it easy. You have raised a kind and gentle young man.”

“Thank you for saying that.”

A quiet moment followed, and Satiah felt a ripple of nervousness in her stomach. With a deep breath, she prepared herself to broach the next subject. “Speaking of your son…” she started, keeping her eyes turned up to the path in front of her. “I had a small suggestion I’d like for you to consider — if it please you, my king.”

Aknamkanon slowed his steps and looked over at her. “Oh?”

“I understand that finding Bakura must be our first priority if Atem is to ever be truly safe,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “But I wonder if perhaps we might also look toward thwarting the thief’s larger goal.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as I understand it, Bakura is only after the Millennium Ring because he believes it can lead him to a greater treasure — something to do with either Ramesses or Amenhotep.”

The Pharaoh stopped and turned to face her fully. “And what might that be?” His eyes glinted, even in the thin light of dusk. 

Satiah swallowed hard. “Well, I’m not sure exactly,” she admitted. “That’s where I’m hoping you can help. I’d like your permission to send messages out to the other nomes, asking their archivists to search for records relating to the Great King and the Heretic. It’s possible your ancestors left something behind when they died — something of great power and worth, perhaps sleeping beside them in their very tombs just beyond the river—”

Aknamkanon scoffed, then turned and started down the path again. “I highly doubt it, my dear,” he said dismissively. “The Valley of the Kings has been mapped and charted by the country’s most respected cartographers. If there was something so grand as you described within our ancestors’ tombs, we’d know about it by now.”

“But what if it’s not something that can be seen with the naked eye?” Satiah proposed. The Pharaoh must not have been expecting her to continue, as he stopped and turned to her again. “The Millennium Ring is said to guide the wearer to whatever he desires, does it not? What if this treasure, or chamber — or whatever it is Bakura is after … What if it can only be revealed with the assistance of the Ring?”

Doubt flickered across the Pharaoh’s face, but in a moment, his stern resistance returned. “I’m sorry, Satiah — but I cannot in good faith go chasing after myths and legends when the man responsible for the death of my kin is still very much alive.” 

He set off walking again, but Satiah suddenly found herself reaching out and grabbing his arm. He wheeled on her, looking impatient now. “I understand that you care about the safety of your son,” she said firmly. “You must believe that I do as well. But I see what he is doing to himself — measuring his own worth against that Ring as if his very life were tied to it. Whether by Bakura’s knife or his own fear, your son is suffering — you must see that.”

Aknamkanon’s chest swelled with a dignified breath. He looked as if he were about to speak, but Satiah cut in again before he could.

“If you wish to continue chasing this ghost of a man, then fine — that is your right as king. But let me follow this trail on my own. As we speak, my father is searching the Karnak archives for—”

At the mention of her father, the Pharaoh raised his hand, causing Satiah to stop in her tracks. “I have washed my hands of your father’s meddling,” he said, his voice cutting sharply. “I care not what the man does with his own time. If you truly believe this will help protect my son, then I will not stop you. But I refuse to divert the crown’s resources to such frivolous pursuits — not when  _ real  _ danger is nigh.” He paused, lifting his head. “Do I make myself clear?”

Satiah felt a knot forming in her throat, choking back all the words left unsaid. Gritting her teeth, she nodded once.

“Good.”

* * *

After a few days of quiet brooding, Atem was surprised to wake up at the start of his third week of recovery to find Satiah more cheerful than ever. She’d somehow managed to rise and dress herself without him waking up, and she now threw back the curtains to cast bright sunlight directly onto his face. Blinking starbursts from his eyes, Atem sat up just in time to see her rushing over and sitting beside him on the bed wearing a huge smile.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” she sang. “You have a big day ahead of you.”

Atem stifled a yawn and pressed his fingers into his eyes. “Is that so?”

“By my count, you’ve officially been on the mend for two whole weeks now,” Satiah said. “And you know what that means — today is the first day you’ll be walking around without your crutch.”

Atem, still rubbing his eyes, made a low sound of acknowledgement. He’d already been foregoing the use of his crutch on and off for the past few days, usually only taking it with him if he knew he’d be faced with stairs or uneven terrain. Given this fact, Atem couldn’t fathom what Satiah was so excited about.

“I’m so proud of you for making it this far,” she went on. “Why don’t we do a little something to celebrate?”

Atem finally drew his hands away and set his eyes on his wife. It was hard not to be charmed by her infectious smile. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I thought it would be nice to take a walk down to Karnak,” she suggested. “It’s a beautiful day, so we can just take it slow. What do you say?”

Atem smiled and took a deep breath. He still found himself a bit bemused by her sudden change in mood, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to complain about it. “Sure,” he said, “why not?”

She grinned wider, then pushed herself off the bed. “Why don’t you get ready and I’ll go arrange us an escort?”

Atem nodded, and she quickly took her leave. Once alone, Atem forced himself up out of bed, moving to the vanity where he kept the various salves and medicinal tools Shimon had provided. There, he slowly unraveled the bandages from around his waist, revealing the nearly-healed wound in his side. In his reflection, he inspected the tight thread of new skin that now stretched itself over the place where Bakura had driven his knife. It was still pink and tender, but the pain had almost completely subsided. At this rate, he was hopeful the scar would fade to nothingness within the year.

As instructed by his team of healers, Atem applied a numbing ointment to the site and rebandaged himself, then quickly changed into a clean tunic and  _ shendyt. _ For the first time in two weeks, he also decided to take up some of his more formal adornments, including his falcon-winged circlet, which had started to collect dust from sitting untouched on its wooden mannequin. After settling the crown down on his head, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, finally starting to feel a bit like himself again.

Throwing his cloak over his shoulder, Atem made for the door, opening it to see Satiah already waiting for him outside. She smiled again upon setting eyes on him. “Ready?”

Atem nodded, then followed as she led the way down the hall toward the palace’s main entrance. As they walked, Atem made a point not to favor his good side too much, trying his best to match Satiah’s smooth, even gait. Upon reaching the stairs, Satiah held out her hand, but he waved it off, managing to make it down himself without much of a fuss.

As they passed through the palace gate into the sun, Atem took a deep, full breath. For some reason, the air beyond the palace walls always seemed fresher and crisper, carried through the city by a subtle, prevailing breeze. Another smile came unbidden to his lips as he followed his wife down the promenade toward Karnak, watching the sun play through the ashen strands of her hair and off her honeyed skin.

Their walk was tended closely, both in front and behind, by the kingsguard. The troop, nearing ten soldiers by his count, was much larger than any he would normally warrant on a trip to the temple. But by the time they’d reached Karnak’s shadow, the presence of the soldiers had been eclipsed by Satiah and her glowing smile.

Once inside the prayer hall, she was quick to link her arm with his as they sauntered down the main aisle. Bittersweetly, Atem was reminded of how they’d walked this very same path on their wedding day. Soon enough, they found themselves passing by the statue of Isis. Satiah paused before the goddess-queen and leaned her head on Atem’s shoulder.

“Seems a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?” she whispered.

“Mm.” Atem laid his hand over where hers rested in the crook of his arm. This summoned her gaze to his, and Atem felt his heart melting at the sight of her warm eyes looking up at him. Smiling, Satiah turned and began walking down a side aisle, the kingsguard following steps behind. She whipped her head over her shoulder at this.

“That’s close enough,” she said firmly. “My husband and I would like some privacy to commune with the gods.”

The soldiers looked at each other, then stepped back into the main aisle. Atem furrowed his brow as a playful grin broke on Satiah’s face. She suddenly dropped her hand to clasp onto his and jerked him deeper into the shadows, ducking behind a statue to pull them out of sight of the guardsmen.

Atem felt a mixture of excitement and unease tumbling in his stomach. “What are you doing?” he whispered, but Satiah ignored him and led him onward. Once they reached the perimeter of the hall, she stopped and put a finger to her lips, then released his hand and continued on, hugging the wall until it opened to a dark doorway a bit further ahead. 

“Satiah, what on earth—”

He stopped when a familiar face took shape in the darkness — Metjen poked his head out of the doorway, looking both ways before motioning for Atem and Satiah to come inside.

Satiah quickly disappeared in the dark door, leaving Atem no choice but to follow. He squinted into the shadows, barely able to see Metjen’s and Satiah’s shapes among the thick darkness. Eventually, they turned into another room, this one lit much brighter, with barred clerestory windows all along the ceiling. The slatted light illuminated dozens of bookcases and scroll shelves running lengthwise from just inside the door, all the way to the back wall. Metjen quickly led the way between two bookcases, which eventually opened to a small circular table at the center of the room.

There, Atem pulled up short and laid a hand on Satiah’s shoulder. “Care to explain what’s going on?” he asked tersely.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I knew you’d never agree to this if I’d asked you.”

“Agree to what, exactly?”

Metjen cleared his throat. “Satiah told me of her theories regarding Bakura’s motives,” he said. “I took the liberty of combing the archives for information on Ramesses — specifically with regard to the occult.”

Atem grimaced. “Why?”

“It’s been nearly two weeks without even so much as a trace of Bakura,” Satiah said. “I figured it was time we stop chasing our tails and start figuring out how to beat the bastard at his own game.”

“Does my father know about this?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Satiah lilted. Atem must have done a poor job at concealing his discontent, as she suddenly grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the table. “Come — look. We think we’ve made a breakthrough.”

Stumbling forward, Atem looked down to see a large, worn papyrus stretched across the surface of the table. The hieroglyphs were badly faded, and the scroll was missing a huge chunk in the top right corner. In the center, however, clear as day, was a depiction of the great Pharaoh Ramesses — then only a general — and his impressive army, riding out to meet their enemy, Amenhotep, on the battlefield.

“The scroll tells of the ascension of Amenhotep, and his defeat at the hands of Ramesses,” Metjen said quietly. “There are not many records left that speak to Amenhotep’s heretical reign. I was lucky to find this one — and in such good condition.” Metjen lowered his finger to the top line of glyphs. “It reads: ‘After the untimely death of his father, Amenhotep the Fourth rose to the throne of Egypt. He had in his possession the great Tome of Coming Forth By Day, which had been passed down from one Pharaoh to the next since the days of Khufu. 

‘It was the divine duty of each Pharaoh to fill the Tome with the songs and spells of the gods, but Amenhotep, wishing to reshape the land of Egypt in his own image, conferred instead with Zorac, the banished god of darkness. Zorac promised Amenhotep untold power in exchange for recording one of his forbidden spells in the Tome. 

‘Amenhotep obeyed, but before he could perform the ritual and release darkness upon the land, the heretic was overthrown by the great warrior Ramesses. Taking up the mantle of Pharaoh, Ramesses purged all record of Amenhotep’s heresy from the written history. However, the Great King was unable to destroy the tainted Tome by any earthly means, and so when he was finally called to the heavens, he was forced to seal the book beneath his own tomb, where it would remain, forever guarded by the Gods of Light.’”

A fist of unease closed around Atem’s middle as Metjen spoke. In the silence that followed, Atem stared at the scroll, feeling both his wife’s and her father’s eyes boring into the top of his skull.

“Don’t you see?” Satiah hissed, pointing to a line in the text. “This book — this ‘Tome of Coming Forth By Day’ — it  _ must  _ be what Bakura is after.”

Atem looked up at her, but his dry throat failed to form words.

“An entire volume of the gods’ spells,” Satiah continued, her words tumbling over themselves in urgency. “Imagine what kind of damage this would do if it fell into the wrong hands.”

Atem swallowed hard as sense finally returned to him. “There’s only one problem with your theory,” he said slowly. “I’m almost certain … that the Tome this scroll speaks of has already been in the crown’s possession for nearly twenty years.”


	21. Heresy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Finally overcame my fear of over-tagging/misstagging and massively revamped tags!! Hopefully nothing too spoily but wanted to see if I could reach more readers. :) Thanks again to everyone who has been keeping up with this fic to date. I really appreciate your readership <3

_ “What?!” _

Satiah slammed her hand down on the table so hard, it knocked over one of the paperweights holding down the scroll, causing the corner to roll up on itself.

Atem looked stunned at her outburst, and Satiah felt a small twist of guilt when he slowly lowered himself into one of the chairs beside the table. “This book…” he said, tracing the glyphs spelling out the tome’s name. “I can’t be sure, but I believe this is referring to the Millennium Tome. It’s an ancient spellbook that’s been under lock and key in the palace since before I was born.”

“You mean to tell me,” Satiah barked, “that the Pharaoh  _ knew  _ this book was hidden in the Valley of the Kings, and he lied to my face?”

“No … That’s not possible,” Atem whispered, more to himself than to her. “That’s not how it happened.”

“What are you talking about?” she pressed, anger still thick in her voice.

Atem looked up, his violet eyes brimming with uncertainty. “The Tome wasn’t found in any tomb or chamber.”

“Well then where was it found?”

Atem lifted a hand and pressed it hard into his forehead, as if trying to draw forth his memories. “Two decades ago, the area around Thebes was struck by a series of earthquakes,” he said slowly. “The same tremors that destroyed Ramesses’ mortuary complex also struck the Valley of the Kings. Most of the tombs were unharmed … except for the sites along the southern ridge.”

Satiah lowered her eyes, the wheels of her thoughts turning. “Ramesses’ tomb,” she whispered.

Atem nodded. “His burial chamber survived, but many of the tunnels and antechambers were upheaved. The workers who were sent to repair the damage found dozens of relics and artifacts strewn about the southern ridge — and the Tome was among them.”

Satiah shook her head with disbelief. “I don’t understand,” she said. “How has your father been able to keep such a discovery secret all these years? Why hasn’t he invoked any of the spells it contains?”

But then it hit her. Satiah lowered her eyes to the Millennium Ring around Atem’s neck.

“The Tome is written in a language unknown to even the most skilled linguists in these lands,” Atem explained, finding his confidence again. “It took the Royal Conclave  _ seven months  _ to translate just one, single spell from the book.”

Satiah sucked in a deep, quivering breath. The pieces were all beginning to fall into place, but the picture they painted was even darker than she feared.

“For a long time, my father was hesitant to even use the Tome at all,” Atem said, lowering his head. “But we had been at war with the Nubians for almost a decade at that time, and when they finally invaded … he knew the kingdom was in danger of collapse. He agreed to let his priests conduct the ritual they’d translated … And thus, the Millennium Items were born.” Atem brushed his fingers along the dangling spikes of his Ring. “After the Nubians were repelled, peace was once again restored in Egypt. So my father saw no reason to continue translating the spells within the Tome. He had it locked deep in the palace, swearing never to open it again.”

Satiah slumped down in a chair beside her husband, her eyes dancing across the surface of the scroll. “So your father never knew of the true origins of the Tome.”

Atem shook his head. “Knowing him, he likely had his suspicions,” he said. “But he feared the power in its pages all the same. Had the kingdom not been under siege, I don’t think he ever would have used it at all.”

Satiah looked up when her father grunted in frustration. “Damn,” he said. “I always knew there was something  _ wrong _ about those Items.”

“But Father, we don’t know that the spell the Pharaoh used was the one penned by Amenhotep,” Satiah urged, though she had her own doubts. “If this scroll is to be believed, then the Tome was originally a gift from the Gods of Light. The chances are much more likely that the spell was benevolent… Right?”

She looked from her father to Atem, whose eyes were filled with the same doubt she felt. She laid her hand over his where it rested on the table, but he was quick to draw it back.

“What does it matter?” Atem said. “The book is safe from the thief’s reach. He can search for it all he likes, but he will never find it in the Valley of the Kings.”

“But Bakura doesn’t know that,” Satiah urged. “And if he ever found out that your father was hiding the Tome, it would only serve to escalate his brutality—”

Atem suddenly stood. “Let him try,” he said. “So far, he has been one step ahead of us. But no longer. If he is foolish enough to attack us again, we will be ready.”

He turned to leave, and Satiah grabbed his wrist. “But—”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he said sharply, pulling his hand away again. “For me to stand up and face my enemy? Well, now I will. With or without you.”

Before Satiah could even speak another word, he was gone — melting into the dark aisles like a shadow in the night.

* * *

Atem did not speak to his wife for the rest of the day. After they’d returned from the temple, he split from her and made his way to the training complex to while away the hours watching his comrades duel. Spectating their matches helped to take his mind off the dizzying revelations uncovered at Karnak, at least temporarily. But by the time the sun set, thoughts of the scroll and the Tome and Bakura were soon chasing each other around in his head again. 

When night fell, Atem returned to his bedchamber to find Satiah already asleep, her shoulders rising and falling peacefully where she lay turned away from him. Quietly, he undressed and joined her beneath the sheets, careful not to wake her from her dreams.

For a long time, sleep refused to come to him, his mind still wheeling with unwelcome thoughts. It had been years since Atem thought about the Millennium Tome, and even longer still since he’d even seen it. When he was very young, just after the Nubian invasion was quelled, his father had taken both him and Tefnak down into the chambers beneath the palace to show them the spellbook responsible for bringing forth the Millennium Items. Atem remembered clutching to his father’s robes as he looked upon the weathered pages, the spell no more than a jumbled mass of symbols and images he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. His father had admitted that even he had not heard the true spell spoken aloud, and that all the priests who helped to translate it had perished in the fight against the Nubians.

Ever since those days, the topic of the Millennium Tome was seldom discussed in the palace, and it began to fade from Atem’s memories as if it had been no more than a legend all along. In all his years, Atem never had any reason to suspect that the Tome was a source of dark magic — powerful, yes, and perhaps even divine, as the scroll had indicated — but never would he have guessed that  _ evil _ might be held within its pages. Even worse, the idea that such evil might have been used to spawn the Millennium Items was all but unthinkable. 

After staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, Atem looked over at his wife. He suddenly felt guilty for being so short with her in the temple that morning — it was clear she was only acting out of concern for his safety, even if her clandestine activities had only served to complicate matters further. Despite all this, Atem knew he’d have been lost without her support and encouragement over these last weeks. Even now, her presence alone was enough to calm his racing thoughts. As he watched the steady pulse of her body beneath the sheets, Atem could feel himself being pulled gently toward the brink of sleep. Before dreams took him, however, the sound of gentle chiming made his heavy eyes fly open again. 

Atem sat up and snapped his head toward the door. Behind it came the all-too familiar sound of the Millennium Ring’s spikes vibrating. At first, he thought perhaps the Guardians were changing shifts — it was Shimon’s turn outside the door, and so far he hadn’t managed to make it through a full night on guard duty. But as Atem stared at the door, the chiming continued — still as loud and as constant as when it had first woken him. Worrying it might soon wake Satiah too, Atem quietly rose and crossed the room, opening the door to peer out into the hallway.

Sure enough, Shimon was fast asleep in the chair outside the door. In his hands was clasped the Ring, all five of its spikes stirring restlessly above his lap. Gritting his teeth, Atem moved fully into the hall and closed the door behind him, coming to stand above Shimon. He thought about waking the old man, but as he stared down at the Ring, his curiosity stopped him. It both thrilled and disturbed him, the way the spikes strained upward, all of them pointing in vaguely the same direction. Was this perhaps the Item’s way of “speaking” to him, despite him not being its true owner yet? And if so, why now? To what desire would the Ring lead, if he chose to follow?

Against his better judgment, Atem reached down and carefully peeled the Ring away from Shimon’s slack fingers. He slung the rope around his neck and, almost immediately, the spikes snapped taut in one direction — down the hall toward the palace proper. On shaking legs, he followed the pull into dark passages and around sharp corners, realizing only when the halls grew deeper and colder that the Ring was taking him toward the throne room at the center of the palace. 

There, he stopped before the entryway and peered into the void. The torches inside had all been snuffed out, leaving nothing but a yawning chasm of darkness. But the Ring continued to strain forward, so he pressed on, sinking anxiously into the shadows. He squinted his eyes, but the only thing he could see was the subtle glint of the Ring catching light from the doorway. 

After walking what had to be nearly the length of the main aisle, the Ring’s spikes finally stopped their strained vibrations and clattered limply back against his chest. He, too, froze dead in his tracks, and deafening silence engulfed him — so quiet he could hear the rush of blood through his temples.

“Hello?” he called. 

But nothing replied, except his own voice reverberating back down from the high, arched ceiling.

Then suddenly — light.

Torches roared to life all along the outer perimeter of the room, forcing Atem to reel back from the sudden brightness. When he opened his eyes again, it was not to the familiar shape of the throne room, but a different chamber entirely — smaller, closer, and somehow older _. _ All on either side of the chamber were rows upon rows of tiered seats, leading the way up to walls etched with masterful paintings in the richest of hues — blues and greens and golds and reds, depicting great battles, divine interventions, and myths of legend. Hypostyle pillars held up a low ceiling painted with millions of shimmering silver stars, all perfectly aligned and glinting down on him as if they had their own light. Before him was a low, wide dais, not unlike the one in the royal throne room, but with two understated chairs atop it instead of one. 

Atem turned in a circle, taking in the sights and trying to orient himself to these new and yet somehow familiar surroundings. But his inspection was interrupted by the arrival of a new presence that drew his eyes back to the front of the chamber — which had, until that very moment, been completely empty.

Now, sitting in the chairs upon the dais, were two figures dressed in ornate, gilded robes. Their faces were concealed by shadow, but one was clearly a man, and the other a woman. Between them, very clearly vaulted atop a small stone pedestal, was the Millennium Tome. But before Atem could inspect the dias any closer, he realized the tiered seats on either side of the chamber were now also filled with people — dozens upon his count, though their faces were concealed as well.

Suddenly, a voice erupted from the front of the chamber: “Come forth!”

Atem spun, seeing the male figure on the dais had risen and gestured his hand toward where Atem stood. Before he could react, he felt the arrival of yet another presence — this one emerging from the darkness behind him. He watched the figure, also male in shape, making its way into the light. His heart was struck to a standstill as the flickering torch lights crawled up the figure’s body, revealing not the head of a man, but of a beast — strange and twisted, like a cross between a bull and a lion, its body covered in the smooth, black scales of a snake. From its gnarled head sprouted two horns, curving downward along its jaw, which split with fangs as long as a normal man’s arm.

As he followed the half-man, half-demon with his eyes, it became clear to Atem that this was some kind of dream or vision — and that the apparitions before him could not see or hear him. With this new revelation, he walked behind the creature to where it stopped and knelt before the dais. There, Atem turned his eyes up to the two figures standing over him. 

In this new light, he was finally able to make out the vague shapes of their heads, shocked again to find that from the male’s shoulders sprouted a long, curved neck and head not unlike that of an ibis, covered in shimmering green feathers. He’d seen this image often enough in tombs and temples to know immediately — this was Thoth, the god of knowledge, wisdom, and mysticism. Atem’s theory was confirmed when he moved his gaze to the right to see Thoth’s consort, Ma’at, emerging from the shadows, her stern face glowing in the torchlight. She carried in her arms the Scales of Truth, and from her elaborate headdress sprouted the ostrich feather of her namesake.

“Zorac!” Thoth shouted, and Atem looked back to see the demon-headed beast turning his black eyes up to the dais. “You stand accused of conspiracy to overthrow the Order of Light. Your attempts to gift man with the powers of Darkness would have surely resulted in untold death and chaos. How do you answer these charges?”

“Innocent, wise Thoth!” Zorac shouted, his voice a deep void. “For too long we have coddled the race of men, showering them only with light and denying them the freedom they so desperately desire! I sought only to bestow upon them the power to choose their own destinies.”

“Heresy!” Ma’at cried. “You know well, Zorac, that we are but stewards to the race of men, and your meddling will only cause pain to ripple through their generations for millennia. It is our duty to care for and guide the humans, not to empower them. To do so threatens the very existence of our Order.”

Zorac grunted. “Listen to yourselves! You are frightened of your own creations. Men are not our playthings — they are our successors! How long will we go on picking and choosing those humans who are worthy of godhood and those who are not, when their race holds nothing but untold potential!” Zorac suddenly stood, turning to face the figures observing from the tiered seats on the flanks of the chamber. “Anubis! Tell me you do not wish to grace mankind with the knowledge of the deep — to let them explore death’s mysteries in ways we have never thought possible! And Set — the race of men  _ needs _ your ambition! Your guidance would surely lead to a new evolution among their kind—”

“Silence!” Thoth boomed. “I have heard enough of your blasphemy. The Council has already convened and decided your fate. The result was unanimous — you will be cast out from our Order, and your  _ ka _ forever sealed in stone so that you may never again commune with man.”

Zorac lowered his head. “So be it.”

Thoth raised his arms, and suddenly the floor of the chamber split open, revealing an enormous stone slab carved into the shape of a sarcophagus, with the visage of a man etched on its surface. It rose up from the earth and stood erect before Zorac.

Thoth then turned to his consort and nodded once. At this, Ma’at raised her scales above her head, and the chamber was filled with a blinding light. It cascaded from the heavens, striking Zorac where he stood. The demon-god howled in pain as light engulfed him and eroded away his physical essence. Though he knew it was a vision, Atem could still feel the heat, and his nose was filled with a scent reminiscent of burning flesh. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the light faded, leaving nothing but the wisps of Zorac’s blackened  _ ka _ floating in the air. Ma’at closed her fist and gestured toward the stone sarcophagus, and, obeying her command, Zorac’s  _ ka _ was sucked into the stone like water to a cloth.

In the silence that followed, Atem felt the illusion around him beginning to ripple and swirl, the colors running like a painting. He looked down, finding his eyes met with an endless void where the floor had once been. All the air left his lungs as his body suddenly plunged into the pit of darkness below. His flailing arms reached out, desperate to find a handhold to save him, but the chamber above quickly grew to nothing more than a flicker of light among the surging blackness.

He squeezed his eyes shut for an impact that never came. Slowly, the air rushing by his ears grew to no more than a quiet whisper, and he turned to face the direction of his fall, opening his eyes just in time to see solid ground rising up to meet his feet. He touched down lightly, then, feeling the laws of nature acting on him again, he crumpled to the floor, his chest heaving with panicked breaths.

Rising to his knees, Atem cast his eyes around another cavernous chamber, this one lit by tiny pillars of light, all shining out of the wall behind him. The pinpricks of light illuminated only vague shapes in the dark, but as Atem’s eyes adjusted, he recognized the scenes painted on the close walls and hypostyle pillars. It was the same chamber he’d been in moments before, only it somehow seemed different now — the rich pigments on the walls were faded and the floor was cracked and crooked in some spots.

Atem stood and crossed to where the dais had been in the previous vision. Thoth’s and Ma’at’s thrones were still visible, as well as the stone pedestal, but the Tome was now gone. On the ground before it, the shower of scintillating lights illuminated the sarcophagus in which Zorac had been entombed. Atem stood above it, feeling a strange desire to reach out and touch it. But before he could lift his hand, a loud  _ cracking _ sound filled the chamber, drawing his eyes quickly to the back wall. The weak rays of sunlight soon split down the center with a thin, vertical slit, and Atem shielded his eyes just in time for it to grow into a blinding orb as two hulking doors crept open, revealing shadowy figures standing on the threshold of the chamber. Excited shouting drew the attention of more people, whose bodies blocked the light enough for Atem to see one of the men climbing down the crooked stairs into the chamber, carrying a lit torch at his side.

The man crept carefully toward the sarcophagus, raising the torch high above his head and casting his form in a softer light. At this, Atem felt a strange wave of familiarity washing over him — the man was dressed in a Pharaoh’s regalia, and upon his head sat a striking blue and gold  _ nemes _ . Soon, the man came to stand beside the sarcophagus, and with the torch extended in front of him, Atem caught sight of another flash of gold — this one at the man’s waist. His belt buckle was formed in the shape of a cartouche, and even in the dim light Atem was able to make out the hieroglyphs clear as day — the symbols spelled “Amenhotep.”

Atem’s eyes flew wide, and he watched with bated breath as Amenhotep stretched his arm out, reaching for the sarcophagus in front of him. His fingers brushed across the etching on the surface, and as if made of glass, the stone suddenly cracked, leaving a shallow pit in the carving’s forehead. A moment later, more cracks spidered outward, traveling down the etching’s arms, across its chest and ending at its feet. Amenhotep flinched back, causing Atem to do the same. After the eerie crackles had settled and the chamber grew silent, the Pharaoh raised his torch again, casting the sarcophagus in an orange glow.

Atem’s heart nearly stopped at the sight.

On the surface of the tablet were seven new carvings, each taking the distinct and unmistakable shape of a Millennium Item. On the etching’s forehead were indentations for the Necklace and Eye; in each hand, the Key and Rod; at its feet, the Scales; and on its chest — the Pendant and Ring.

Frozen, and with his eyes locked on the indentation meant for the Ring, Atem nearly missed it when dark mist began to encircle the tablet. Amenhotep stood his ground, holding the torch higher to greet this apparition as if he had been expecting its arrival.

But the sight struck Atem with utter horror. He stepped back, watching as the apparition took a familiar, haunting shape. At the sound of deep laughter, he turned, desperate to escape this rising threat, racing into the waiting arms of the darkness, stopping only when his body collided with something soft.

“Atem!”

A warm voice brought him surging out of the illusion, his eyes flying open to meet the worried gaze of his wife. Beside her stood Shimon, looking guilty as he held a torch above his head. Satiah took hold of Atem’s shoulders, and the torchlight cast creeping shadows on her face that made Atem question whether or not he was still dreaming.

“Are you alright?”

But her voice was clear and untainted — her touch warm. Atem would have pulled her into his arms, if not for a sudden sting of pain lashing across his bare chest.

He gasped and looked down, greeted with the sight of the Millennium Ring glowing hotly, as if it had been smoldering in burning coals for a day. The sound of searing flesh followed, and dazed, he looked back up to see Satiah’s eyes flying wide. Without hesitation, she reached out, grabbing the Item by its curved outer ring and ripping the rope forcefully from his neck. She hissed in pain and threw it across the floor of the throne room.

Shaking, Atem looked back down at his chest to see a red mark in the same shape as the Ring pulsing angrily on the surface of his skin.

At the sight, Satiah spun to address Shimon: “Call the Guardians.”


	22. Together

For the first time since Satiah arrived at the palace, the Pharaoh and his Sacred Guardians were left speechless. 

They had gathered in the great hall and listened patiently as Atem recounted the visions shown to him by his Millennium Ring. But now, in the wake of the prince’s words, they had nothing to say. Satiah stood beside her husband where he sat at the head of the table, surrounded by his most trusted viziers, who now couldn’t even manage to conjure a word of reassurance. Atem had a blanket drawn over his shoulders, which concealed most of the mark branded on him by the Ring, but he was still shivering wildly. It turned Satiah’s stomach to see him like this — once a poised and measured man, now reduced to a panicked husk.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Seto stepped forward. “And you’re sure that it wasn’t just a vivid dream?”

Atem stared across the table, down to where the Millennium Ring was lying just out of his reach. He nodded once. “I could feel it,” he said, his voice trembling. “The heat of their bodies … The chill of the dark.”

More silence.

“But what does it mean?” Karim whispered.

Satiah looked around, watching the faces of the wisest priests in the land drawing blank. Frustrated, she laid her hand on her husband’s shoulder and squeezed hard. His eyes flickered up to her momentarily.

“It means we must find it,” she announced, her voice cutting sharply across the room. “This chamber — this … this sarcophagus that Amenhotep uncovered. If the chamber is truly where Zorac sleeps, we must secure it, before Bakura — or any other man with ill intent — can set foot within it.”

“I thought Zorac was just a legend,” Seto shot back. “A figment of the mad king’s imagination.”

Shimon made a low noise. “That was always just a rumor,” he said, his voice heavy, “spread by the descendents of Ramesses, to discourage any aspiring heretics from seeking out the god’s powers. And it worked — in time, Zorac’s legend was reduced to no more than a bedtime story to scare children into behaving.”

“But this proves it’s not,” Satiah cut in. “There was  _ something _ hidden in that chamber, and Amenhotep set it free.”

“We don’t know that for certain,” Karim said, though his voice was laced with doubt. “It could have been anything that caused these visions … The medicines he takes — delirium or stress—”

Satiah scoffed. “Tell me none of you have been shown illusions by your Items before,” she demanded, looking around at their shamed faces. “None of you? Not a single one?”

Finally, Isis spoke up. “This demands further exploration,” she said quietly. “It is clear the Millennium Items are somehow entwined with the events observed by our prince. We should investigate to find out why.”

Satiah appreciated the woman’s backing, however weak it was. She continued scanning the faces of the Guardians, most of whom avoided her eyes, until finally, she set her gaze on the Pharaoh. She’d almost failed to notice Aknamkanon, who stood shrouded in darkness behind his viziers. But his blackened eyes shone fierce as he looked down upon his quivering son — the last of his flesh and blood.

He turned sharply on his Guardians. “Karim, send out messages to every nome within a day’s ride,” he commanded. “Tell them to begin searching their archives for records of Amenhotep’s reign. Any findings are to be brought to me personally.”

Karim stood stunned a moment, then quickly nodded and set off.

The Pharaoh turned to Seto now. “Seto — gather the Conclave’s five finest priests and ride for Set-Ma’at at first light. Meet with the head of the tomb guardians there and set them to work searching Ramesses’ burial chambers. Have your priests set up a patrol along the southern ridge and report back to me daily with any news.”

Seto nodded enthusiastically before following in the same manner as Karim.

“As for the rest of us — it shall be our duty to uncover the meaning behind these visions. Let us convene tomorrow morning to discuss our strategy. But first…” He moved toward his son, summoning Atem’s eyes up at last. “I believe we are all in need of some rest.” He looked over his shoulder. “Isis, can you please fetch Mahad and have him meet me at my son’s chambers?”

Isis bowed and excused herself; Shimon followed soon after.

When the Pharaoh turned around, Satiah saw that his eyes had softened somewhat. He reached out and took up the Ring sitting on the center of the table, and for a moment, Satiah was worried it might burn him as well. But his hand closed firmly around it, and he turned back to face Atem.

“Come, my son,” he said quietly, holding out his free hand. Atem stared into his palm for a moment before reaching out to grasp it, rising shakily to his feet. The Pharaoh put his arm around his son and led him toward the door. From afar, Satiah thought the prince looked like a child, swathed in blankets and embraced by his father. Watching them felt like peering into a private memory, so much so that she almost daren’t follow. But before she lost them in the darkness, the king looked back over his shoulder and nodded, summoning her to fall into step behind them.

She followed like a shadow as they made their way back to the prince’s bedchamber, where Mahad was already waiting outside the door, looking serious as ever. Aknamkanon stopped, released his son, and turned to Satiah.

“I’ll be right in,” he whispered, and Satiah quickly took her cue. She swept in and wrapped an arm around Atem, leading him inside. He followed listlessly, and as they passed the windows, Satiah caught sight of an empty glaze flashing on his eyes. When they reached the bed, she turned him and lowered him down, then removed the blanket from his shoulders. She nearly winced at the sight of the reddened mark still burned into his chest, though it already looked to be fading somewhat. She could only hope it would be gone by morning, along with whatever affliction that now plagued him.

A moment later, the Pharaoh and Mahad entered the chamber. Before they even passed the first window, Satiah could see the flash of the Ring around Mahad’s neck. As they came up beside the bed, Satiah stood back. The Pharaoh shifted guiltily for a moment, then knelt before his son and laid both hands on his shoulders. The prince blinked, but his eyes failed to find his father’s.

“Atem,” he said, his voice stilted and fatherly. “I have discussed the matter with Mahad, and we have agreed that it is best for him to take over Guardianship of the Ring until further notice.”

At this, Atem’s gaze cleared, and he looked hard at his father.

“This will only be temporary,” Aknamkanon continued, “until we can figure out the source of these visions and—”

“Why?” Atem’s voice was much louder than Satiah expected. “Do you think I’m not … worthy?”

“Not at all, my son — not even in the slightest.”

Mahad stepped forward. “We just want to ensure your safety,” he said.

Atem looked up to his friend, his eyes shining. “Am I not safe?” he said. “Am I not surrounded by protectors, coddled and babied at my every step?” There was venom in his words now, unlike Satiah had ever heard from him. “Should I be expected to sit back and watch as my only duty and purpose are stripped away?”

Suddenly, Aknamkanon stood. “I have already lost one son for the sake of this Ring,” he said sharply. “I will not allow it to take another. My decision is final.”

Atem glared up at his father, and Satiah only now noticed his hands were gripping tightly to the sheets of his bed, his knuckles flashing white. Sparks flew between father and son until, at last, Atem lowered his eyes. Immediately, the Pharaoh spun and made for the door with haste; Mahad gave a remorseful bow before trailing after.

As the door slammed closed, Satiah found herself releasing a sharp sigh of relief. She sank down beside her husband on the bed, but when she reached out to touch his shoulder, he shrugged it away and stood. Startled, Satiah gazed after him, watching as he crossed his arms and moved to stand before the far window.

“You must be pleased about this,” he muttered. 

Satiah knew she should feel guilty, but she found herself spurned instead. Huffing, she rose and followed him to where he stood. “I suppose I am,” she retorted, causing him to glance over his shoulder for a moment. “If you expect me to apologize for caring about your well-being, I’m afraid to say you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“You know, I never asked for any of this.” He spun, looking just as fraught as he sounded. “I was prepared for the life I had before. I was ready — I knew what I was called to do. But then … you and your scheming father came along and I — I just …” He thrust his hand out toward her. “I never wanted this!”

“And you think I did?” Satiah felt her skin ripple with chills. “You think I  _ wanted _ my soul to be ripped from my body? To have my choices whittled to nothing?” She struck her hand against her chest. “I will not accept blame for the sins committed by our fathers. And neither should you.” She reached out to grasp his hand, but he quickly pulled it away. At this, Satiah exhaled sharply and straightened up. “Go on then. Turn me away, if that will make you feel more like the man you wish you were.”

His whole body twisted with shame — his hands curling into fists, his shoulders rolling forward like two anchors ready to fall. And fall, he did — he sank down onto the edge of the bench behind him, resting his elbows on his knees and catching his head in his hands. He shook — not with tears, she knew, but with rage. 

Satiah’s cold heart softened, and as if pulled by a string of fate, she swept forward, coming to kneel behind him on the bench. She slipped her arms around his middle and fit herself against his back, resting her chin on his trembling shoulder. 

“This?” she whispered, running her fingers softly along the faded brand on his chest. “This is not your calling. This is a burden you were never meant to bear.” He sucked in a deep breath, and Satiah breathed with him, lending him a strength she didn’t even know she had. “I know not what you are called to do — nor do I know what my own future holds. But whether by fate or by choice, we have been bound to one another. So whatever we may face — now, we will face it together.”

* * *

Another week passed with hardly any new developments in their search. When not dissecting old scrolls or meditating with Isis, Atem spent most of his time lounging in his chambers or jealously spectating duels at the training complex. At one point, he’d even joined in a doubles exhibition match at Mahad’s request, but his friend’s  _ ka  _ had ended up crushing their opponents before Atem could even cast a spell. As Mahad was still considered only an interim Guardian of the Millennium Ring, he hadn’t undergone an initiation ceremony of his own. But he still wore the Item with pride when he dueled — and though Atem tried not to let it affect him, he couldn’t help but feel a bit spiteful whenever he saw the glint of gold around his friend’s neck.

Atem’s brooding sometimes carried over into conversations with his wife, but Satiah weathered it gracefully. Whenever they spoke, she was patient and deliberate, and she took care to avoid the topic of the Ring entirely. If things ever got quiet enough for him to sink into solitary thoughts, she would distract him by challenging him to a game of senet, or encouraging him to work on the puzzle she’d given him.

To her credit, fiddling with the pieces often helped take his mind off the situation at hand. After whiling away almost an entire morning working on it, he found himself thrilled to discover that the puzzle was turning out to be a three-dimensional object, and not a two-dimensional image as he’d first thought. So far, he’d managed to piece together three separate hexagonal blocks, all nearly identical in size and shape. Each block had a small circular protrusion coming from its center, and Atem wondered if perhaps they were meant to stack on top of one another, but he hadn’t managed to get the completed pieces to fit together just yet. 

He was just about to move on to constructing a fourth block when Satiah made her way into their chamber. He smiled upon setting his eyes on her and raised a hand to gesture her closer. She made her way to his side, looking curiously down at his work.

“Look how far you’ve gotten!” she said softly, reaching out to run her hand along the edge of one of the blocks. “Never would I have guessed this to be such an intricate project.”

“Once I figured out that I could connect the pieces along more than one side, things started to make sense,” Atem said, slotting yet another piece into place.

“But how does it all fit together?” she asked, picking up one of the completed hexagonal blocks.

“I’m not sure yet,” Atem admitted, chuckling. “One thing at a time.”

Satiah looked over at him and smiled. “Indeed.” She placed the block back and cleared her throat. “Could I tempt you to take a break for the afternoon? I have something special planned.”

Atem creased his brow. “Should I be worried?”

Satiah laughed. “No tricks this time — I promise.”

Atem sat back and stroked his chin, trying to make her think he was considering declining. But she didn’t buy it for a second. “Alright then,” he conceded. “Should I change?”

A huge grin broke on her face, and she shook her head. “You’re perfect the way you are.” Reaching down, she grabbed him by the hand and hoisted him out of his chair. 

Atem couldn’t help but laugh while she dragged out of the room and through the sun-washed halls. As they reached the first junction, Satiah ordered him to close his eyes, then spun him around so he didn’t know which way he was facing. Afterward, she grabbed his hand again and led him onward, giggling all the while. They stumbled together down a flight of stairs, and as they leveled off, Atem felt the sun cutting across his face. Finally, Satiah stopped and pushed him in front of her.

“Okay,” she said, “open your eyes.”

He did, and a bemused grin broke on his face at the sight he was met with: Three horses stood waiting for them at the northern gate of the palace, their reins held by Mahad.

“It’s such a beautiful day,” Satiah said quietly. “I thought we could go for a ride along the river.”

Atem turned to Satiah, his smile still bright. “What a lovely idea,” he said. “But … has my father consented to this?”

Before she could answer, Mahad approached, towing the horses with him. “You needn’t worry about that, my prince,” Mahad said. “I’ve already sent a battalion of the kingsguard to clear and mark a safe path, and I will ride behind to watch over you.”

Atem made a low noise, his eyes falling to the Ring around Mahad’s neck. He looked away when Satiah’s hand fell to his arm. She peered up at him with an expectant smile on her face.

“Alright,” he finally agreed. “How can I say no?”

Satiah’s smile grew, and she hurried over to one of the horses, a roan mare. Mahad climbed up onto the black gelding, leaving Atem the dapple white stallion. He took up the reins as he mounted and settled back into his saddle. Sliding his fingers up to a tighter grip, he turned his stallion in a circle to head toward the northern gate. Mahad and Satiah followed close behind.

As Atem led the way down the rocky path toward the river, it struck him suddenly that this was the first time he’d ridden since the journey to and from the mortuary complex. He could already feel the muscles and reflexes reawakening after a month of dormancy. Once the path leveled off to packed sand, he kicked his horse into a trot, glancing over his shoulder to see Satiah was right on his heels. Though he’d never seen her on horseback before, she looked to be a natural rider, no doubt having received personal lessons while serving in her father’s court. She quickly caught up to Atem and winked before urging her mare into a canter. He clicked his tongue to make his stallion keep pace until they finally crested over the upper bank of the river, where Satiah pulled up to a stop and circled around to face him, grinning.

“You ride well,” he said, almost breathless.

“My brother and I used to stage races all along the Giza plateau,” she said. “I usually won.”

Atem smirked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mahad trotting to a stop behind them. “The path should follow the bank north,” he announced. “Look for white paint.”

Atem nodded, then, hoping to catch Satiah off-guard, he tightened his grip and kicked hard into his horse’s sides. The stallion neighed and lurched forward, falling directly into a gallop. He guided the steed along the crest of the bank, hearing Satiah laughing as she tried to keep pace. Ahead, he scanned the rocks and trees for splashes of white paint, almost missing a marker in his haste. He jerked his reins, ducking around a bend leading to a steep, craggy path along the river. At the top, Atem pulled up short, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of the landscape before him.

Below, the Nile cut sharply eastward, stretching out nearly to the horizon before easing north again around the Theban Necropolis. At this hour, the sun washed down into the Valley of the Kings, clearly illuminating the dusty roads that led all the way up from the river’s shore to the very top of the ridgeline. In the clear light, Atem could almost make out the two stone statues that guarded the entrance to the Valley itself, just beyond which Seto and his priests were patrolling vigilantly.

Satiah finally trotted up beside him, and her cheerful grin fell into humble reverence. “I almost forgot what it looked like,” she said, “outside the palace. It’s so vast… To think, I’ve only seen but a fraction of this kingdom.”

Atem let his eyes float back to the Valley. “I hate that we’ve been driven into hiding by no more than a shadow,” he said, gripping tightly to his reins. “As much as I wish to serve the thief his retribution, what I find myself longing for the most is simply the freedom to move about my lands in peace again.”

“I promise we’ll soon put an end to these vexing mysteries,” Satiah said. “When we do … we should go somewhere. Let’s travel to the other nomes, and speak with our people. I want to see the White Desert at night, and bathe in the Faiyum Oasis again.”

Atem couldn’t help but feel a hopeful smile tugging at his lips. He nodded, almost more to himself than to her, and committed her wishes to his memory. A moment later, hoofbeats faded into his ears, and Atem turned to see Mahad cresting the hill behind them. He kept himself at a respectful distance, however — his watchful eyes occupied scanning the area for signs of danger.

Sighing, Satiah leaned forward and patted her mare’s neck. “Come, we should take a break at the next bank and let the horses drink. You’ll run your stallion ragged if you keep up that pace.”

Atem laughed wryly, then followed as she guided her horse along the path again. They took the downslope much slower, allowing them to ride side by side along the narrow lane. When he wasn’t watching the path for stray roots or stones, Atem let his eyes roam over to his wife, admiring her graceful posture and the way the wind brushed her hair back and forth across her bare shoulders. These were moments he would have cherished dearly, had a cloud of uncertainty not been hanging over them.

The path soon leveled into a shady grove along the river, and Atem walked his horse right up the bank. There, he dismounted and led the steed over to a palm tree leaning over the edge of the water. Satiah followed, and they both lashed their mounts around the trunk of the tree, giving them enough slack so that they could reach the water and drink.

Atem moved away from his horse, following the tide line for a short way where he stopped and turned to face the Nile. The sinking sun shimmered along the surface for as far as the eye could see. As he surveyed the crystal clear waters, he caught sight of Satiah wading out into a shallow pool nearby. She turned over her shoulder and smiled at him, and Atem felt a stirring in his soul at the sight of the glittering water eclipsed around her like a halo. She leaned down to splash water on her arms and chest, leaving a smooth sheen lingering on her skin. 

Unable to resist, Atem kicked himself out of his shoes and followed her, bending down to douse his own limbs in the cool water. While staring at his reflection, he felt a sprinkling of water rain down his back and spine. With a shiver, he straightened up, just in time to see Satiah breaking into laughter as she skidded her hand across the river’s surface again. He grinned, managing to dodge her second splash, then returned it with one of his own. She yelped in surprise when the water doused the front of her dress, and she bounded deeper into the pool, out of his reach. Atem chuckled heartily, but found his joy interrupted briefly by the sound of a familiar voice careening through the shady grove.

“ATE-EM! SATIA-AH!”

Snapping his eyes away from his wife, Atem spied none other than Mana jogging into the clearing, her arms and back laden with what looked like heavy linens. He quickly glanced to Satiah again, but she seemed just as surprised by the sight. Together, they waded back toward the bank. Meanwhile, Mana dropped the bundle of linens in her arms, followed by two baskets that were previously hidden from sight. As Atem emerged from the water, he saw the baskets were brimming with food and drink. 

“I thought I’d bring you two a little picnic!” Mana panted, placing her hands proudly on her hips. 

Satiah grinned and stepped forward to help Mana set out the blanket. “You didn’t have to do that, Mana,” she said in a motherly tone.

“No trouble at all!” the girl sang. “Well, except for the fact that I had to walk all the way here — I tried to grab a horse, but the stablehands wouldn’t let me — I mean, can you believe that—?”

“Mana!” Atem looked up to see Mahad rushing into the grove, his horse tethered to a tree nearby. “What on earth are you doing here? I thought you might be an attacker!”

Mana scoffed and waved her hand at him. “Quit worrying so much, Master,” she said. “Here — have a sweet cake, maybe that’ll ease your spirits!” She rummaged through a basket and held out a cake to Mahad, but he ignored it, looking sternly at her. “Don’t want it? Fine then — here, Atem you take it.” She thrust it in his direction, already leaning down to continue sifting through the baskets. “I also brought some dates and … Oh, Atem, look —  _ ta’amiya _ , your favorite!”

But before she could retrieve it, Mahad stalked forward and grabbed her by the scruff of her frock, causing her to straighten up. “Come, Mana,” he hissed between his teeth, “let’s leave the prince and princess in peace now…”

Mana whined in protest as Mahad dragged her out of the clearing. Once alone again, Atem and Satiah looked at each other before breaking into hearty laughter.

They soon settled down to enjoy the refreshments Mana had brought, taking turns pouring wine and exchanging delectables. Atem was already feeling weightless from the ride, and after dining on the delicious cuisine, he found himself all but ready to walk the heavens. With a satisfied sigh, he stretched himself out on the blanket and folded his arms behind his head to angle his gaze up into the azure sky. Satiah finished nibbling as well, then leaned back against a tree trunk, wrapping her hands around her middle in content. 

Atem grew drowsy within minutes, lulled toward sleep by the clouds drifting lazily overhead. His heavy eyes flew open, however, when he felt Satiah moving closer to him, her hands slipping beneath his head to lift it into her lap. He blinked up at her, but soon found the call of slumber returning as she began to run her fingers lovingly through his hair. She smiled down at him and smoothed his locks away from his forehead. With a deep, intoxicated breath, he let his eyes flutter closed, feeling her run her nails lightly across his scalp in a hypnotizing pattern. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he could have sworn he heard her begin to hum a gentle melody, and his subconscious mind was soon filled with the blissful music of dreams.

He awoke sometime later, surprised to see the sun already creeping down toward the ridgeline to the west. Satiah’s hands had grown slack and fallen away from his hair, and he looked up to see she had drifted off as well. Wanting to let her rest a bit longer, Atem carefully lifted his head out of her lap and turned to watch her while she slept. There was something so peaceful about the sight — her shoulders rising and falling like the pulsing tide, her lips relaxed and half-open to draw steady breaths. Smiling, Atem crawled a bit closer to her, first intending to wake her, but instead finding himself gazing wistfully at her for a quiet moment more, his face only inches away from hers.

Just then, she stirred, her heavy eyes blinking rapidly as she settled back into the present moment. Despite how close he’d come, she did not shy away from him — rather, she let her lips flicker up into a smile that turned the warmth in his heart into a burning flame. Suddenly, she reached out to graze her fingers across his cheek, and her touch caused a spark that had Atem drawing even closer to her, his eyes fluttering closed, lips parting curiously, until —

“Prince! Princess!” 

Pulling back with a start, Atem stood and wheeled around to see Mahad rushing into the clearing again, a royal messenger in tow. His heart thrummed at the thought of the tender moment that was now slipping through his fingers.

“We must return to the palace at once,” Mahad panted. “There’s been news — from the Valley.”


	23. Reign

Satiah kept her eyes locked on Atem’s back as they rode along the ridge and down toward the palace again. She felt almost as if she were moving through a dream — a blissful one, where warmth was ever-present, and where there was nothing to fear from the vulnerable feelings circling in her heart. But the closer they drew to their destination, the more she was dragged away from this sanctuary, until all she could do was pity herself. How foolish it was to think she deserved to explore such affections when peril loomed so near on the horizon.

Soon, she, Atem and Mahad galloped back into the courtyard, quickly dismounting their steeds and passing them off to the waiting stablehands. As they made for the entrance to the palace, Isis emerged from the doorway, her features drawn tight with unease.

“What news, sister?” Mahad asked.

But Isis’s eyes were on Satiah. “Your father was intercepted by the Conclave on the road out of Set-Ma’at,” she said gravely, “and he was in the presence of an unusual traveling companion — a former tomb keeper. The one from Seto’s initiation.”

“Heqab?” Satiah exclaimed. “But why?”

“Your father claimed the man may have information on the chamber we seek,” Isis explained, gesturing for them to follow her. As they set off, she continued. “Unfortunately, Seto had them both thrown in the cells when they arrived.”

Satiah gritted her teeth as they reached a spiral staircase, just now realizing that Isis was leading them to the dungeons. Her heart thrummed as they descended the stairs, thinking about what vitriol might have been exchanged between her father and Seto on the road back from Set-Ma’at. 

At the bottom, they turned the corner toward the first cellblock — the one meant to hold petty thieves and common criminals. As they entered, Satiah spotted her father’s shaded form sitting in the corner of the first cell. “Father!”

“Satiah?” He roused and stood, racing to meet her, grasping the bars; Satiah folded her hands over his. “Oh, Sati, thank the gods!”

She turned to the two guards standing in the middle of the cellblock. “Unlock this cell at once!”

The soldiers stood at attention, then one — a fidgety young boy who couldn’t have been a day over fifteen — quickly hurried over, removing a ring of keys from his belt. When the door was finally opened, Satiah burst in and flung herself into her father’s arms. But as she pulled away, she felt a thorn of anger in her side. “How did this happen?”

Her father looked guilty. “I’m sorry, Sati, it’s just… That arrogant priest Seto—” He silenced himself, and Satiah turned to see Isis, Mahad, and Atem stepping into the torchlight. “My prince,” her father said, bowing. “I deeply apologize for the manner of my arrival. I did not mean to offend—”

Atem held up his hand. “Isis says you have information regarding the chamber we seek.”

Metjen’s eyes grew wide. “Yes, of course!” he said, turning to the guard now. “The man I came with — Heqab — where is he?”

The guard hesitated, turning his eyes to Satiah instead. “You heard him!” she barked, and the boy quickly turned and receded back into the hall. Satiah and the rest followed, coming up to see Heqab emerging from the shadows of the furthest cell, looking as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Princess?” he whispered. “Is that really you? So it is true! I couldn’t believe it when Metjen told me you were his daughter!”

Satiah smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Heqab. I hope my father hasn’t caused you too much trouble.”

Heqab chuckled as the door to his cell was unlocked. “I’m no worse for wear,” he said, stepping further into the light. He jolted upon setting his eyes on Atem and the Guardians standing behind her. “My prince!” he gasped, leaning into a steep bow. “I am humbled by your presence — and that of your advisors and wife. Thank you for coming to our aid.”

Satiah could tell by the look in Atem’s eye that his patience was winnowing. She turned to Heqab and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I hear you have some knowledge that may be of great importance to our king,” she said curtly. “Is this true?”

Heqab straightened up. “Yes, Princess,” he said. “Your father came to find me in Set-Ma’at, bearing with him the scroll telling of Amenhotep’s downfall. With his help, I believe I’ve been able to pinpoint the location of the chamber the Pharaoh seeks.”

“But the guards,” her father cut in. “They confiscated our papyri when they seized us.”

Satiah rounded on the poor soldier again. “Where are the documents you took from these men?”

The boy swallowed hard. “I, uh — I believe they were given to Guardian Seto, Princess.”

...

It took all of Satiah’s self-control not to bust down the doors of the war room upon reaching them. Instead, she pulled up to a stop and knocked respectfully on the heavy wood, then dropped back in line with her husband and the rest of the attending group — her father and Heqab, as well as Isis and Mahad, who had since been joined by Shimon. She exchanged a sidelong glance with her husband before the doors were thrown back a moment later, revealing a very smug-looking Seto.

“Ah, Prince — Princess,” he said bowing his head. “I see the prisoners have been released.”

Satiah snapped. “How  _ dare  _ you throw my father in a cell like some kind of—”

She stopped when the Pharaoh moved into the light, looking grave. “I’ve had enough of these games,” he said, causing even Seto to stand up straighter. “All of you. In here. Now.”

Satiah crossed the threshold first, followed by Atem. The rest of the attendants filed in, with Metjen and Heqab entering last. The king moved to the head of the war table and sank into a chair, putting his head wearily to his hand. “Seto — do you care to explain why you arrested the father of the Princess?”

Seto shifted guiltily, then cleared his throat. “Well, you see, my king,” he started, turning to face Metjen and Heqab. “I saw the former nomark arriving in Set-Ma’at this afternoon, looking somewhat … suspicious. So I followed him, and soon discovered he was visiting with this man — I believe you remember him from my initiation ceremony.” He pointed to Heqab, who lowered his head. “They disappeared into the man’s home, and though I could not follow without being seen, I was worried they might be scheming against the crown. So I waited for them to emerge, and when I confronted them — I saw they were carrying these documents with them.” Seto pointed at the surface of the table, whereupon sat the weathered scroll Satiah’s father had first shown them at Karnak, along with two other large, half-rolled papyri. Carefully, Seto unrolled the topmost scroll, revealing, clear as day, a map of the Valley of the Kings. “As you can see, they had everything they needed to stage an attack upon my men.”

Satiah scoffed. “Attack?!” she spat. “Both of these men have been stripped of their  _ ka _ . What threat could they possibly pose to the most powerful spellcasters in Egypt?”

Seto looked taken aback. He opened his mouth to respond, but the king quickly cut him off.

“I’m afraid I have to concur, Seto,” Aknamkanon said, surprising even Satiah. “You acted rashly. You should have given these men the chance to explain themselves before clasping them in chains.”

Seto held out his hands in pleading. “But they — they are—”

“Criminals?” Satiah cut in. “Have you forgotten they have already paid the debt for their past transgressions? Or is the king’s law not sufficient punishment in your eyes?”

Again, Seto seized up, unable to find a retort.

Suddenly, Heqab stepped forward, eyes still downcast. “If I may, your highnesses…” he started, wringing his hands. “I hold no grudges against Guardian Seto. He was only doing his duty to protect his king and country — which is my own desire, as well. That is why I answered Metjen’s call — and why I stand before you now, Great Pharaoh.” The tomb keeper lowered his head even further.

The king looked hard at his subject — this man whom he had once condemned to a sentence some would consider worse than death. Satiah was surprised to see a hint of guilt in his gaze, but he quickly shook it loose, turning his eyes down to the war table before him.

“This scroll,” the king said, pointing at the one Satiah’s father had unearthed. “It corroborates a vision my son had — about the emergence of Zorac. But I’m afraid I don’t understand the meaning of these other documents. As far as I can see, they are just maps of the Valley.”

Heqab took a careful step, left foot forward, his head still bowed. “May I?”

The king nodded, sliding the other two papyri back across the table.

Heqab took them up, then extended one to Satiah’s father. “Upon reading the scroll Metjen uncovered, I was intrigued by the last sentence — where it says that Ramesses was forced to seal the Tome  _ beneath _ his own tomb. I found this particularly strange, as I have been custodian to the burial chambers along the southern ridge for nearly fifteen years, and I can say with confidence that there are no voids which have not yet been charted.”

“As I suspected,” Aknamkanon agreed.

“But—” Heqab held up his finger and turned, gesturing to Seto. “Guardian Seto, would you take the corner of that scroll, if you please?”

Seto sneered, but he turned to hold the other half of the scroll in Metjen’s hands. Together, they unfurled it, revealing an intricate map of the Valley of the Kings. The flames from the fireplace shone through the fibers of the papyrus, bringing the details of the map into even sharper contrast.

“Ramesses’ tomb is here, correct?” Heqab said, pointing to the southern corner of the map, where a spot along the raised ridge was marked with the Great King’s cartouche. “Now, looking at this… Ah, Guardians, could you lend me your hands?” He gestured to Isis and Shimon, who came over and helped him unroll another scroll, this one with a second map, but one that Satiah didn’t recognize. “Perfect, and stand here, if you please…” He positioned the pair so that the scroll they held fit perfectly against the one held by Metjen and Seto. 

“This—” Heqab continued, “this is a map of Set-Ma’at and the surrounding area. It marks all of the different villages and sectors belonging to the tomb keepers. Now, if my calculations are correct…  _ This _ area—” he pointed to a small dot that overlapped with the spot where he’d identified Ramesses’ tomb on the other map, “—is directly adjacent to the Great Pharaoh’s burial chamber.” He paused and turned to the king, who was looking pensive, with his hand drawn up beneath his chin. “It’s on the other side of the ridge, yes. But from a geographical perspective, they align almost perfectly.”

“But what is it?” the Pharaoh urged, leaning forward and squinting at the map.

“We believe,” Metjen started, scanning the faces of the court, “it is the abandoned village of Kul Elna.”

“The tomb robbers’ lands?” Seto exclaimed, releasing his corner of the map, causing it to roll up again.

Metjen nodded. “The region has a tumultuous history. The tomb robbers only moved into the area after the earthquake that struck in the year of Pharaoh Aknamkanon’s ascension. But do you remember who had been stewards of that land until that time?”

Seto’s brows arched in revelation. “The cult of Ramesses.”

“Indeed,” Heqab confirmed. “A secretive and arcane sect of priests, whose sole purpose was to guard the Great Pharaoh’s tombs and burial chambers. They lived in the village of Kul Elna for centuries, but the earthquake nearly wiped out their entire cult. After the land was deemed too dangerous for inhabitants to return, the tomb robbers swept in made it their home instead.”

“But the thieves were driven out during the Nubian Invasion,” Seto cut in again. “These lands have been empty for over a decade.”

“Exactly,” Heqab continued. “Yet another set of inhabitants gone in an instant, never to be seen again. No other area in the Valley has seen this much strife in the last century. That fact, combined with its proximity to Ramesses’ tomb, makes it the perfect candidate to be concealing a lost chamber, wouldn’t you say?”

Seto seemed to be wrestling with the logic, obviously still bitter his own search efforts in the region hadn’t been as successful as Heqab’s basic geography lesson. “But if there  _ was _ a chamber that held the power of the gods sleeping beneath their feet, don’t you think it would have been the first thing the tomb robbers would seek?”

Metjen made a low sound. “Perhaps they didn’t have the means to access it,” he said, then, looking grave, “or, someone else got there first.”

“Or it doesn’t exist at all.” The Pharaoh stood, running his eyes along the scroll bearing the painting of Ramesses’ and Amenhotep’s confrontation. “All these details are conjecture at best, and outlandish at worst.” He looked up, meeting eyes first with his son, then Heqab. “However, we cannot discount them until we have done our due diligence. Not while Bakura’s threat still hangs over us all.” He turned to Seto now. “Seto, you are to return to the Valley at once. Have your men pivot their search to Kul Elna.”

Seto looked vexed, but after a moment, he nodded and turned to leave.

“And take Mahad with you this time,” the king added, causing Seto to stop in his tracks. “I have a feeling the Millennium Ring has a part yet to play in our search.”

* * *

A full day passed without any news from the Valley, and Atem was beginning to lose hope in the search again. In truth, he’d only been half-convinced by the tomb keeper’s story, though Atem was careful to keep his doubts to himself so as not to dampen Satiah’s newly lifted spirits. But now, as he wandered the dusky halls of the palace, going nowhere in particular, his apprehension was getting the better of him.

In his solemn contemplation, Atem soon found himself wandering past the library, down toward an area of the palace he very rarely visited — the hall of pharaohs. It was an enormous chamber, nearly as large as the throne room itself, where statues of every king in the last nine centuries stood in somber rows, glaring blankly through the shadows like bronze ghosts.

Upon passing the open doors, Atem at first had no intention of entering — just the sight of Ramesses’ stony eyes looking at him from the second row was enough to spur him on his way. But as he peered deeper, he saw the familiar shape of his father, kneeling in the darkness several rows on. Intrigued, Atem felt himself called to his father’s side, despite the multitude of noble eyes following as he moved deeper into the hall.

Atem could not see the ruler before whom his father knelt, but he could only assume it was one of the many forebears whose statues lined the back wall of the hall. As he drew nearer, however, he found his eyes met with fresh-cast bronze in a strikingly familiar shape — that of his brother, rising proud and kingly in the company of his ancestors.

Atem stopped and looked upon Tef’s face, feeling the weight of his brother’s unrealized reign come crashing down like a landslide. Even etched into the muted bronze, there was so much lost potential — so many possibilities left to smolder and slag and cinder into nothingness.

His father must have sensed his presence, as he soon rose and turned, his face flickering gauntly in the torchlight. A smile cut through the shadows drawn on his features, but Atem could not bring himself to be comforted by it. A moment later, his father turned back to Tef’s statue, his shoulders rising with a deep breath.

“After he died, I promised myself I’d visit his tomb every week,” he said. “Now look at me. Cowering in my palace, speaking to a mere effigy.”

Atem did not reply, but he moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with his father and traced his eyes over the intricate details of the statue before them. It was a faithful replica — the person who had sculpted it had known Tef well. Atem was surprised to see, however, that his brother’s chest was notably lacking the Millennium Ring.

“Until the day I die, I will regret that I was not brave enough to join him in the battle that claimed his life,” his father continued, unbidden. “It should be my likeness standing here. Not his.”

For a moment, Atem let his gaze flash to his father, and he almost expected there to be tears wetting his face. But there was nothing — his eyes were as vacant as the statue before them.

In his brother’s looming shadow, Atem felt suddenly as small as a grain of sand in the thrashing desert. He found himself echoing his father’s sentiments, wishing that it had been  _ his  _ body smothered beneath the column in Ramesses’ mortuary temple. He simply could not fathom why fate had chosen this path for him, when it was his brother’s strength he had relied on his entire life.

In that moment, he recalled the words he’d heard in his vision of Zorac’s tribunal — that men could only be granted godhood by the Order of Light.

“Father,” he said softly, “do you truly believe the gods have the power to crown a king?”

His father turned, and a brief smile lit his face again. He reached out and took Atem’s shoulder, turning him to face the expanse of the chamber. “Look around you, my son.”

Atem swept his gaze back and forth across the room, meeting eyes with the greatest rulers of their nation: Ramesses and his countless children; Thutmose and his brave wife Hatshepsut; even the line of Amenhotep, whose dynasty had ended in disgrace.

“This kingdom was built by men and women of every caliber, and their paths to the throne were as varied as the stars in the sky. Some were conquerors, some were scholars. Some, like Amenhotep … were zealots.” He paused and squared himself before Atem again. “Is it possible they only claimed their crowns through divine favor? Perhaps. But more important than  _ how _ a king ascends is what he does upon his throne.”

Atem looked up to see a familiar, wise shimmer had returned to his father’s eyes.

“Every king in this hall believed himself a god in his time,” he went on. “But I promise there is not a single one among them who was without flaw. Like my forefathers, I hold many fears and many regrets in my heart. And I have learned to live with all of them.” The king straightened up and looked at the statue of his first-born son once more. “No man living can say what awaits him in the Duat — whether he will be welcomed to the company of the gods or cursed to wander amongst lost souls for all eternity.”

His father’s words were dark, but somehow, Atem felt lighter upon hearing them, as if just knowing there was more than one truth was a comfort in itself.

“You see, Atem, what defines a king’s reign in  _ this _ life is not his successes — only how he responds to failure.”

Atem looked up to see his father gazing at his forebears again. His voice was louder now. It echoed through the chamber, rippling through the eras one-by-one. 

“Tell them, Atem,” he said, nodding his head to the statues before them. “Tell your ancestors how  _ you _ would define your reign.”

Without the beacon of his father’s voice, a thick silence consumed the chamber. Atem could hear his heart beating in his ears — a steady, despotic drumbeat, demanding fealty.

“I want…” he started, curling his hands into loose fists. “I want not to walk in the shadow of my betters.” He paused, and in place of the oppressive silence, he heard his own voice echoing back in a deep and noble tenor. “I wish only to walk in the light.” Louder now, and joined by the resonant chorus of his forefathers. “I will strive to forge my own path. I will make the difficult choices and fight the righteous battles.” 

He felt his father’s hand gripping tight to his shoulder. 

“And I will build a world where all men are empowered to do the same.”

...

As Atem left the hall of pharaohs, he felt the wisdom of a hundred kings leaving with him. For weeks, it seemed as though he’d been wandering in darkness, bidden onward by a future never meant for him. Now, he was ready to walk with purpose, knowing that anything he left behind would be of his own making.

This new inspiration soon had him sweeping dauntlessly through the palace, stopping only to take in the fragrant breeze of nightfall from the windows he passed. The new moon had risen, and with it came a blanket of stars brighter than any he’d ever seen. They wove together in threads and clusters, decorating the blue-black canopy with raw and beautiful chaos. An hour ago, gazing into such disarray might have made him uneasy, but now it filled him with wonder — to think that there might be as many futures before him as there were stars in the sky.

Another moment more, and Atem found himself at the threshold of his bedchamber. There, he entered and closed the door behind; his heart lifted further at the sight of his wife waiting for him. Satiah was sitting against the far windowsill, carefully surveying the same sky he’d been gazing into moments before. Now, she turned to him, and a peaceful smile came instantly to her lips. Like a beacon in the moonless night, Atem felt himself drawn to that smile, his legs carrying him weightlessly across the cool tiles.

Her eyes swept up and down him as he walked, studying his form as if she could sense the change within him. He stopped mere inches away from her, perhaps closer than he’d ever been, his chin nearly touching his chest in order to meet her upturned gaze. There, Atem saw all the heavens reflected in her wide eyes — a million wheeling stars, pulling him deeper, closer, his hand reaching up to trace along her arm and rest in the graceful curve of her neck. A fire sparked to life inside him to see that her calm smile remained, even as he slipped his hand further to cradle her head, holding it still for him to lower his lips and find hers. Though her eyes fluttered closed, taking the stars with them, the fire within him kept burning — kindling through his core and out to every extremity. 

Satiah’s hands soon rose up to brace herself against his chest, and he knew from the way her lips chased his that this was meant to be — that she was not simply allowing herself to be kissed, but rather a willing participant in this overdue and long-avoided show of affection. It drove him to deepen it, threading his fingers into her hair and parting his lips to lash his tongue against hers. She followed his lead and more, tightening her hands around his tunic to pull him closer, sharply enough that he had to extend his free hand to steady himself against the windowsill behind her.

Satiah had just reached up to embrace him when a loud knock caused them to both suck in deep breaths and break away. Atem closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into hers; then, with venom, he barked, “Not now!” 

Through fluttering lids he searched for her lips again, but another knock came and halted him in his tracks. Vexed, he straightened and wheeled around.

“What is it?!”

With a loud creak, the door inched open, revealing Shimon’s worried eyes, and Atem felt the flames of his heart instantly extinguished. “I’m very sorry, your highnesses,” he whispered. “We just received word from Kul Elna… The chamber — it has been found.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Sorry for the delay in updating… But finally, the kiss! I know I kinda teased it in the last chapter, but hopefully it was worth the wait... Right? RIGHT?! XD I feel so bad for cutting them short yet again. I’m very cruel to my characters like that. Well, anyway — hope you enjoyed! Pop by for a comment if you did! See ya in the next chapter!


	24. Sins

It was nearing midnight by the time the royal convoy rode quietly into the township of Set-Ma’at. With the exception of a few soldiers barking orders, not a word had been spoken since the start of their journey. Atem, riding near the back of the column, was one of the last to see the sleepy village rising up out of the darkness. Firelight danced along its mudbrick rooftops, and heavy smoke seeped down to the path before them, kicked into ghostly swirls by their horses’ hooves. 

Even at this late hour, many residents came out to see the king and his court making their way through town. Tomb keepers and artisans and vagabonds alike stood huddled on their doorsteps, wrapped in blankets and exchanging hushed whispers as the column rode by, two-abreast and flanked on either side by a menacing line of foot soldiers. 

Atem swept his eyes from side to side, stopping only when his gaze crossed Satiah’s where she rode silently beside him. The stars were just barely bright enough to illuminate her form against the cliffside, and in the smoldering light Atem thought she resembled a warrior-queen of old: her upper body clad in a shaped leather breastplate, her forearms protected by thick bronze bracers. Her hair had been swept up into a low, twisted plait at the nape of her neck, and her fringes were smoothed into place by a thick headband. 

She offered a determined smile as he surveyed her, and Atem forced himself to return it, remembering the flame they’d ignited in their bedchamber barely an hour earlier — and how quickly it had been snuffed out. Atem was surprised by how easily Satiah had brushed aside the tender moment; by the time Shimon had left their room, she was already preparing herself for the journey, and as usual, no amount of protesting seemed sufficient to convince her to stay behind. He knew he should feel grateful for her support, but he found himself more nervous than ever to have her riding by his side. Without her  _ ka _ , Satiah would be no more than an ibis in a crocodile nest if danger were to arise.

Pushing these thoughts from his mind, Atem returned his eyes to the path ahead. They departed Set-Ma’at almost as soon as they’d entered it, treading carefully along a treacherous path southward. He had never been on this road either by horse or by foot, and as it steepened upward, the column was forced to slow their pace even further. Soon, the foot soldiers were squeezed into a single file line, allowing Atem a clear view into the deep ravine below. Even in the cool desert night, he felt his brow breaking with sweat.

To distract himself, he focused on the prize at the end of the trail — the village of Kul Elna, and, concealed somewhere within its broken embrace, the hidden chamber which had vexed Atem’s thoughts since the last time he’d found himself in the Valley of the Kings. A knife of grief cut across his heart as he remembered laying his brother to rest among his ancestors, just on the other side of the ridge from where they now rode.

Suddenly, a loud shout caused the convoy to stagger to a stop. The horses neighed in protest, and Atem had to cinch up tight on his reins to keep his steed from backing up off the side of the ledge. Ahead, Seto, who had been leading the column with Mahad, stood up in his saddle and turned to address the rest of the convoy.

“Just down the hill is the village,” he announced loudly. “Soldiers, light your torches and ready your arms. Follow me.” He then snapped his reins to lead on. 

It was several moments before the convoy had moved enough for Atem to glimpse the village below. In truth, the word “village” was ill-suited to describe the ruined landscape — only the shattered husks of buildings were visible in the winnowing light, and any path which had once led the way between them was now indistinguishable from the jagged debris littering the ground. It was clear the earth had nearly sheared itself in half here — part of the town had been thrust up several feet, creating a crooked gully on one side and a windswept cliff face on the other. 

Eventually, the path narrowed and began to gradually decline, funneling them between two tall and winding outcrops. The convoy rode on single file, occasionally having to stop to navigate a spooked horse over a large boulder or down a crumbling foothold. After what seemed like an hour of squeezing deeper into the slot canyon, the path finally opened up into a slightly wider clearing, only to terminate abruptly at a sheer wall of rock. But as Atem circled his horse around the perimeter of the clearing, he noticed there was a dark void toward the back of it — a tunnel carved into the rock, and surely appearing almost invisible to anyone not looking for it.

While the mounted convoy moved deeper into the clearing, the foot soldiers filed in behind, their torches casting eerie shadows up the towering cliffs overhead. Seto was first to dismount his horse, and he grabbed a torch from one of the soldiers standing nearby before stepping up to the mouth of the tunnel. There, he waited while the rest of the convoy climbed down and circled around him. Silence still hung thick in the air, and Atem scanned the line of anxious faces, ending with his father, whose iron eyes stared deep into the dark void.

“From here, we travel only with the royal court,” the Pharaoh announced, nodding for the lesser priests of the Conclave to step back. They did, but a few returned a moment later bearing more torches for the Sacred Guardians to take up. Atem elected to keep his hands free, instead offering the light to Satiah. She took it, holding it aloft. The firelight barely penetrated the heavy blackness, but a set of stairs took shape just inside the mouth of the tunnel. 

Resolutely, Seto nodded to the group before setting off down them. Mahad was next to descend, followed by the Pharaoh and Shimon, then Atem and Satiah, and lastly Iset and Karim. The chorus of their footsteps cascaded in echoes down the seemingly never ending shaft, and Atem found it increasingly odd that there were no scenes or glyphs painted on the walls and ceiling. In fact, it wasn’t until the stairs leveled out and opened into a wide antechamber that they came across any markings at all.

Atem squinted through the inky shadows at the wall directly across from them, just barely making out the shape of a set of doors carved into the otherwise nondescript rockface. Upon reaching it, Seto held his torch up, illuminating the doors and the glyphs etched into the surface.

“This is as far as we’ve gotten,” Seto explained, turning back to face the court. “We’ve looked everywhere for a switch or lever to operate the doors, but there are none, and every attempt to pry them open has resulted in broken tools.”

Mahad stepped forward as well. “The glyphs say simply: ‘Only the blood of the Pharaoh may enter.’” He turned to face the king, whose brow had creased in contemplation. “We thought perhaps the presence of your highness might be enough to trigger the mechanism…”

The Pharaoh stepped up to the doors and ran his fingertips across the dull rock, causing wisps of dust to break away and swirl down toward the floor. After a moment, he pulled away and held his hand out to Seto instead. “Lend me your blade.”

Seto looked down at his waist, where a long iron dagger was tucked into his belt. He unsheathed it and offered it, handle-first, to the king. Aknamkanon took it then held it up in the light, causing the blade to glint harshly. He raised his other hand to the polished metal, and, before anyone could protest, he pricked the tip of his index finger, causing fresh, scarlet blood to run down into his palm.

“Pharaoh!” Mahad gasped, reaching out to his king. But Aknamkanon ignored him, instead turning his now-bloodied hand over and running it lightly across the doors.

Gasps rippled through the court as the stone immediately reacted to the king’s blood — loud clangs shook the walls, and the etched glyphs suddenly split in two as the doors parted inward, opening to more deep and cavernous darkness.

Seto made a low sound. “This must be how the tomb robbers were held at bay…”

As silence once again took hold, Atem was struck with a sudden and pervading feeling of familiarity. Though his eyes could see nothing of the chamber beyond, his heart grew heavy with the weight of his memories — the voices of the gods cascading down from on high, the heat of the torches lining the walls. These feelings summoned his body into motion, despite the fear that gripped him. Without even a light to guide him, he stepped up to the threshold of the door, feeling the eyes of the court at his back.

“My prince,” Mahad hissed, causing Atem to stop and turn momentarily. “Let me lead the way. We know not what dangers await us in the dark.”

“There are no traps here,” the Pharaoh declared, as firmly as if he knew it in his own heart. He wrapped his finger in a strip of white linen pulled from inside his robes. “Come,” he said, then stepped up to join Atem in the doorway.

Seto and Mahad were quick to follow, holding their torches up to light the way. Atem continued onward, tracing his eyes along the walls and pillars within. While the sights felt familiar in his mind, it was clear time had taken its toll on the chamber — many columns had begun to crumble, and the paintings which had once seemed almost lifelike were now no more than faded silhouettes on the desiccated stone.

Atem stopped walking when the Guardians’ torches finally threw enough light to illuminate the back wall of the chamber — or at least, what was left of it. The dais upon which Thoth and Ma’at had once stood was now cracked in half, with the entire northwest corner of it upheaved completely through the ceiling of the chamber. What little remained of the dais now had a hypostyle pillar leaning precariously over the top of it, its cylindrical sections just barely holding together under its own weight. 

As Atem’s gaze followed the flickering firelight down the pillar, his breath caught in his throat. At the base of the dais, lying slightly crooked but otherwise unharmed, was the stone sarcophagus he’d seen in his vision.

His father must have seen it too, as he moved without pause toward the slab. Atem followed, his heart thumping louder in his chest with each step. Somehow, between all the damage and devastation and years of attrition, this relic had not only survived — but looked almost as fresh and new as the day it was created.

His father looked over his shoulder. “Is this what you saw in your vision?” he said, his voice no more than a whisper.

Atem clenched his jaw hard and nodded once.

The king turned and continued forward, slowly circling around the sarcophagus and inspecting the uncanny carvings in its surface. As he did, Atem felt the searing image of Amenhotep taking almost this exact same path in his dreamscape. His father stopped upon coming to the head of the slab. Dark shadows cut across his eyes, concealing them, but Atem knew his father felt it too — the same hypnotizing urge to reach out and touch the stone — an instinct as raw and undeniable as breathing. Was this what Amenhotep felt all those years ago? This calling to be one with the powers of the gods?

His father’s fingers twitched, but before he could extend his hand, the chamber was flooded with light and sound and chaos, as if the entire cosmos had suddenly come crashing down around them. Atem shielded his eyes and shrank away from the slab, unready to face whatever retribution his weakness demanded.

“Who disturbs the slumber of darkness?”

A godly voice boomed through the chamber like a thunderbolt. Still reeling, Atem squinted through the flickering shadows, his eyes now greeted with a familiar, ethereal glow taking shape behind his father — once again, Thoth came to stand upon the crooked dais in all his resplendent glory.

The entire court stood frozen in awe, unable to offer so much as an utterance in reply. Even the Pharaoh, who had now turned to face the dais, could find no words or movements to address the god of wisdom.

Atem’s attention was drawn away from Thoth as more streaks of light beamed down into the chamber, leaving behind spheres of spectral mist, each one slowly forming into another familiar deity — Anubis to their left, Hathor to their right, Apep, Serket and Sobek behind. Finally, Ma’at materialized at Thoth’s right hand, stepping forward with her stately head held high.

“Aknamkanon,” she declared. “We have been awaiting your arrival — you, who birthed the Millennium Items from strife and shadow.”

The Pharaoh instantly stooped to one knee and lowered his head. “Gods of wisdom and justice,” he gasped, a hand held tight against his heart. “I am not worthy to be addressed by name.”

“Ah, he speaks the truth!” Atem snapped his eyes to the left, where Anubis bared his shining jackal’s teeth. “Let us cast out his tainted soul and feed his heart to Ammit.”

“Temper yourself, Anubis.” Hathor’s voice floated softly in from the right. “For all his flaws, Aknamkanon is still the gods’ anointed one. We should let him speak.”

“Tell us, Pharaoh,” Thoth commanded, pointing a finger at the king, “why is it you have finally come to seek our council?”

Atem watched as his father stood and turned in a circle, looking frantic and accused. “Wise ones,” he said, his voice quivering. “For some time, my court has been stalked by darkness. A man has risen against us and cursed my family with death and suffering. He stole away my eldest son and grandson—”

“A small price to pay for the sins you have committed.”

Atem spun, watching as Apep’s forked tongue flickered out from between his glinting fangs. 

Suddenly, Serket took a step toward Shimon, who was standing closest to her. He shrank back, turning his face away and gritting his teeth. “Look at them,” Serket hissed, reaching out to run her finger along Shimon’s Millennium Key. “They flaunt their evil meddling as if they are proud of it.” Atem felt the goddess’s words seeping out like venom. “How can we be sure they have not come to fulfill Zorac’s prophecy themselves?”

“Please,” the Pharaoh gasped, causing Serket to turn her attention away from Shimon. “It is true, I gave the order that brought forth the Items. But I confess, I know not of what sins you speak. Tell me of them, so that I may properly repent.”

Anubis laughed heartily. “So he is a fool as well as a sinner!”

“He tells no lie,” Ma’at cut in. “He was not there on the day the Items were forged.” She stepped forward, then reached into her headband and pulled out the Feather of Truth. Slowly, she brushed it across the king’s chest. “His heart tells me those who performed the unholy ritual no longer walk the earth. A shame they are not here to answer for their crimes — but what are a handful of lives for the sake of ninety-nine?”

Atem saw his father’s lip quivering. “Ninety-nine?” he whispered. “Ninety-nine lives…?”

Thoth turned his head up, eyes narrowed. “You must know it, in your heart,” he said. “You must feel it, with the Pendant cradled close to your breast at every moment. Do you not hear their wails and cries in your dreams? Feel their fingers clawing at your back as you sit upon your vaulted throne?”

The king’s gaze grew long, his chin falling to his chest, tears welling in his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “No, this cannot be—”

“But it is,” Anubis said, moving around to catch the Pharaoh’s forlorn stare. “Your bloodthirsty soldiers sent each and every one of their souls to my embrace — some innocent, some not. But all taken before their time, and at the behest of a god whose darkness knows no bounds.”

“Zorac?” Aknamkanon whispered, lifting his tear-streaked face. Suddenly, his brow set with conviction. “Tell me,” he begged, turning back to Thoth and Ma’at. “Tell me how to defeat this evil. Tell me how to make right my sins.”

Thoth took a deep breath. “Zorac has been sharpening his vengeance for millennia. But our magic is strong. He will continue to slumber in his sarcophagus, so long as the Millennium Items never return to the stone from which they were formed.” He paused, looking down at the slab behind the king. “In his ambition, Amenhotep foolishly released part of Zorac’s evil essence upon the land of Egypt. But even the heretic was not callous enough to perform the ritual Zorac demanded of him. When Amenhotep saw the sacrifice it required — when he was forced to stare into the eyes of those ninety-nine tributes — he hesitated. Just long enough for Ramesses to rise up and strike him down.”

“Ramesses was strong,” Ma’at continued, “but he did not prevail over evil by his might alone. He wisely sought out the guidance of god-kings passed — those who wielded the gift of our magic with reverence and respect. With their help, the race of man may yet stand a chance at defeating Zorac once and for all.”

“Of whom do you speak?” the Pharaoh asked.

Thoth and Ma’at met eyes for a moment, their faces twisted with uncertainty. Finally, Thoth looked back at his anointed subject. “The line of Khufu,” he declared. “Beneath the tombs of Father, Son, and Grandson lie the  _ ka _ of the three Holy Gods, whose combined power is all but limitless. Ramesses needed only one such  _ ka _ to smite Amenhotep’s heresy — but should Zorac ever be fully released upon the earth, even the strength of all three Gods may not be enough to dethrone the king of darkness.”

Aknamkanon beat his hand against his chest. “With this court as my witness, I swear I will do everything in my power to secure the  _ ka  _ of the Holy Gods.”

“You?” Once again, Anubis laughed wryly. “Who are you to assume you are deserving of such an honor? Just because you stumbled upon the Tome which holds our words does not make you worthy to speak them. You are lucky we did not strike you down for entering  _ this _ chamber. To think you would be welcomed in the tombs of your noble ancestors — your arrogance knows no bounds!”

Listening to the gods chastise his father set Atem’s heart on fire with anger and shame.

“How then?” his father pleaded, flicking his wide eyes between the holy faces surrounding him. “Tell me how I can make myself worthy!”

“I’m afraid Anubis may be right,” Ma’at said firmly. “Those who seek to invoke the Holy Gods must be pure of heart — and whether by your knowledge or not, your reign has been forever tainted by unconscionable death and darkness.”

“Perhaps not.” Hathor’s voice cut in once more, and Atem turned to see her motherly gaze settling squarely on him. “The sins of the father are not always passed on to the son. There may be hope yet within the Pharaoh’s line.”

Atem’s breathing grew shallow and ragged, as suddenly all eyes in the room — both earthly and divine — turned to him. He searched desperately for his father’s gaze, but the king’s head had fallen, a curtain of darkness drawn over him. Slowly, he turned back around and lifted his face to his holy arbiters.

“Do you accept this verdict?” Thoth asked, his voice low and measured.

Atem began to tremble as he watched his father, without hesitation, kneel before the gods and grant his consent with a decisive nod.

Thoth raised one hand. “So let it be written. So let it be done.”

Immediately, a pillar of light and heat beamed down from the ceiling, as fast and jagged as a lightning bolt. It struck the king where he knelt and summoned forth from him a cry of pain that Atem felt deep within his soul. He, too, cried out and surged forward — reaching desperately, like a frightened child — but he was held back by a familiar embrace, warm arms wrapped around his waist and shoulders.

“No!” he cried, struggling against his wife’s hold, tears shaking free from his face. “No — Father! Don’t go! _ Don’t go!” _

But as soon as they had come, both the light and the gods were gone. His father’s hunched and shaded form was left behind, but within the deafening silence, Atem knew. The light had taken everything with it — every bit of his father’s wisdom, every moment of virtue, every wise word and stern admonishment — all swept away into the darkness, along with his sins.


	25. Low

Atem kept his head turned up to the column of light at the end of the stairway, even as he felt his eyes begin to water. His face was still wet from tears of a different kind, leaving half-dried trails of bitter salt on his cheeks. The sunlight consumed almost every inch of his vision, blotting out the shape of his father’s body ahead, being carried up the stairs in a blanket by Seto, Mahad, Iset and Karim. But as they neared the surface, Atem saw clearly the glint of the Millennium Pendant cradled against his father’s breast, somehow shining even brighter than Ra’s own light.

After they emerged from the chamber, Atem finally willed himself to lift a hand and cover his eyes, bringing the dark shapes before him into sharp relief against the bright cliffside. His empty heart lurched to life again at the sight — the entire convoy stood facing him, the head of every priest and soldier hung low in respect for their fallen king. He felt smaller now than he had felt even in the presence of the gods.

Atem’s attention was drawn away at the feel of a hand falling on his shoulder. He turned to see Satiah standing beside him, her amber eyes aflame in the dawning light. She looked back toward the convoy, then nodded lightly, and Atem understood what was being asked of him. 

Slowly, he stepped forward, casting himself in the same ray of sunlight that illuminated his father’s body, which now rested peacefully on the ground before him. He looked upon the departed Pharaoh and opened his mouth to speak, but it wasn’t until he lifted his eyes back to his subjects that words finally came to him.

“Our Pharaoh is gone,” he said, surprised by the weight of his own voice. “He gave his life to protect us — his children, the children of Egypt — from the threat of darkness. But his death alone will not be enough to balance the scales of sin he inherited. A tide is rising, brothers and sisters — a tide of evil. And when it comes, it will crash down hard upon the shores of our homeland—”

Atem stopped when a dull thud echoed through the clearing, and he turned to see a soldier had dropped his shield and spear to the ground in front of him. Then came another, and another, and for a moment, Atem feared that they might be preparing to turn away — to desert him. But slowly, like ripples across still water, the soldiers began to sink to their knees, until the entire convoy had prostrated themselves before him.

His heart overflowed with honor and humility. “But we will not sit idly by while our great empire is eroded by wickedness,” he went on, even louder now. “When the time comes for us to face the darkness — we will be ready. We cannot let our Pharaoh’s sacrifice be in vain — we must protect our sacred realm from those who wish to do it harm, so that all men can bask in the light and glory of peace.”

A reverent pause followed his words, as if the entire world was brought to a sudden, solemn halt. Slowly, his subjects turned their eyes up to greet their new king. Atem scanned each of their faces, taking in the grief and anger and confusion — letting every emotion fill up his bereaved heart and give him new purpose.

The silence was suddenly broken by high, solitary applause trickling in from above. While the soldiers surged to the ready again, Atem snapped his eyes to the top of the low mesa overhead, but the light of dawn had since broken over the ridge, blinding him to the source of the sound. But then, sinister laughter echoed down to join the vibrato of clapping — laughter that Atem would not soon forget.

“What a truly  _ moving _ speech, my prince!” Bakura stepped further toward the edge, towing a horse behind him. “Or should I say Pharaoh?” 

The thief’s eyes flicked to where the departed king was lying limp on the ground, and almost immediately, he began to roar with laughter. Atem felt his blood boiling at the sound; he curled his hands into fists.

“I knew the gods would have words for your father … but  _ this—!” _ He howled again. “This is better than anything I could have hoped for! The great Pharaoh Aknamkanon, cast into the underworld by his own stupidity! How does it feel? To inherit such a pathetic and shameful legacy?”

Just then, the presence beside him left. He turned to see Satiah rushing toward her horse, which was being held loosely by a soldier at the perimeter of the clearing. She mounted it in one smooth motion, then grabbed the soldier’s spear out of his hand and kicked hard into her horse’s sides, setting off at a gallop toward the village again.

“Satiah!” Atem called, but she broke through the line of soldiers standing at the mouth of the trail and disappeared around the first bend.

Atem flicked his eyes back up to the mesa, just in time to see Bakura climb onto his horse, chuckling as he receded into the sunlight. Immediately, Atem sprinted to the perimeter of the clearing and mounted his own steed, ignoring the protests of the Guardians who stood stunned nearby. He ripped hard on the reins and urged his stallion up the narrow path in pursuit of his wife.

As he galloped onward, Atem just barely caught sight of Satiah’s mare around each twist and bend, along with Bakura’s shadow flickering down into the gully from above. Even over the chorus of hoofbeats, Atem could still hear the thief hooting with laughter, and it drove him to dig his heels harder into his horse’s sides.

When at last he squeezed out from between the outcroppings and back into the twisted embrace of Kul Elna, he lost sight of Satiah momentarily and was forced to pull his steed to a skidding stop. In the sudden silence, he heard the thundering of her horse off to his right, and he turned to see her galloping up a steep incline nearby. At the top, there was a narrow strip of rock that bridged the gap between Kul Elna and the mesa on which Bakura had been riding. 

Quickly, Atem followed after his wife, but her horse’s hooves had left divots in the shifting sand that slowed his pace considerably. He whipped his reins from side to side against his horse’s shoulders, managing to crest the hill just as Satiah was crossing the land bridge onto the mesa. But as she did, the rock began to crumble, sending huge stones and boulders tumbling down into the ravine below. Atem tugged hard on his reins, barely managing to keep his horse from galloping off the ledge.

Now stranded on the other side of the mesa, Atem looked up to see Satiah had stopped and angled her mare eastward, her eyes narrowed toward the horizon. A moment later, Bakura rode out of the sunlight to meet her. He stopped his steed as well, leaving a healthy distance between them.

“Satiah!” Atem shouted again, dismounting his horse to race as close to the edge as he could. She ignored him, gripping tighter to her spear.

Bakura laughed and settled back into his saddle. “Well if it isn’t the Pharaoh’s devoted wife,” he called. “Tell me, my queen — what’s worse? Knowing you’re married to an utter coward? Or the fact that you were sold to him like a broodmare?”

Slowly, Satiah lifted her arm, pointing her spear at the thief. This only caused Bakura to laugh harder, his head thrown up to the sky.

“How could I forget the best part?” he shrieked. “He stole your  _ ka _ as well, didn’t he?” Bakura began to laugh so hard, he nearly fell out of his saddle. It took him several moments to gather himself again. “And yet you continue to defend him — the man responsible for the ruin of your family.” He clicked his tongue. “After you and your father were crushed at Memphis, I thought you could sink no lower. Now I see I was wrong.”

“Face me in a fair fight, then,” Satiah called out, “and see how wrong you really are.”

Atem saw clearly the shadow of a grimace flickering across Bakura’s features. Meanwhile, Satiah’s face looked as though it had been carved in stone. They stared each other down for another moment, until, finally, Bakura smiled again and slid down from his horse.

“Fine — I was looking forward to destroying you with my _ka,_ ” he pulled aside his robe, revealing the hilt of a short _khopesh_ sword tucked into his belt _,_ “but I suppose I’ll have to settle for flaying your skin — while your husband watches.”

Satiah dismounted her horse as well, stepping forward with her spear clutched in both hands. Bakura drew his sword, twirling it so that it caught the morning light. He bared his teeth in a wicked smile as if taunting Satiah to attack.

She took the bait, kicking herself into a full-blown sprint across the mesa, her spear leading the way. Bakura centered himself and held up his sword in a defensive stance, so that even as Satiah thrust the spear out several feet in front of her, he was able to easily parry the blow. Using the curved edge of his  _ khopesh _ , he twirled the shaft of the spear around and thrust it into the ground, causing Satiah to stumble forward and into the fatal range of Bakura’s blade. Atem tensed, but Satiah was ready — following her forward momentum, she switched the grip of her lead hand and brought the blunt end of the spear out from under her arm, cracking it clean across Bakura’s face. He staggered backward, cradling his nose, from which blood soon began to pour.

Growling, Bakura returned both hands to his sword and lunged forward, slicing crosswise at Satiah’s head. She dodged it easily, ducking low and going for a short stab toward his core. He just barely managed to curve his body out of range, then made another wild swing of his sword. This time, it connected — not to the tune of lacerated flesh, but rather clanging metal — Satiah had thrust up her lead arm, taking the blow of Bakura’s sword on her bronze bracer. 

Even from this distance, Atem could see the look of fear in the thief’s eyes as Satiah pushed up, then brought her spear down in a sharp arc, grazing the tip across his chest. Again, he was forced to retreat, clasping a hand to his newest wound. It was just a glancing blow, but Atem knew Bakura’s confidence would have taken the brunt of the strike. While the thief rallied himself, Atem considered sending his  _ ka _ to intervene, but knowing the might of Bakura’s own creature, he feared he would only put Satiah in further danger.

After wiping the blood from his hand, Bakura returned it to the hilt of his sword and gripped it tight; he began to rotate in a slow circle around Satiah, looking for a weakness. But she showed him none — her stance low and posture fluid.

Bakura sneered. “How long has it been now?” he called. “Since your brother died?”

Satiah’s chin tilted up, her eyes flashing, but she kept her shoulders squared bravely to her foe.

“It felt good to send his killer to the Duat,” Bakura went on. “You should have seen it — I squished that dumb lunk like a fly.”

Atem felt his jaw tighten.

“Really, it’s  _ me  _ you should be bowing to,” the thief muttered. “After all, I gave you justice.”

Satiah twitched, but she restrained herself again. “I don’t want  _ your  _ justice.”

Suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats drew Atem’s attention back down the slope he’d come from — Mahad and Seto were riding out of the gully and into Kul Elna. He looked at them only long enough to ensure they’d located him, then he turned his head back to the brawl across the mesa.

As soon as he did, Bakura lurched into action again — he rushed at Satiah with his blade outstretched, using it to knock the tip of her spear into the air and close the gap further. Wisely, Satiah backed up out of range and attempted to swipe the spear down, but Bakura parried it again, sweeping it across his body and freeing one of his hands to backhand Satiah across the face. She stumbled, having to plant the blunt end of the spear into the ground to keep herself from falling over. 

At this, Bakura swiped again, just barely missing her face by an inch on his foreswing. On his backswing, Satiah brought her weapon vertically across her body, blocking the thief’s blade with the shaft of her spear. Bakura’s momentum stopped short, and Atem’s heart leapt upon realizing the blade had lodged itself completely into the handle of the spear, so deep that even a double-handed pull could not free it.

Satiah pressed her advantage, surging forward and kicking Bakura squarely in the chest. He was forced to release the blade as he fell, landing flat on his back a few feet away. Satiah lifted the spear and broke the shaft across her knee, discarding the half with the sword lodged in it. She then stalked toward her fallen prey, and Bakura skittered desperately backward like a crab to keep out of striking distance. But she soon caught up with him, and Atem felt a swelling of pride as she aimed the spear down at the thief’s chin, causing him to stop squirming.

“What about now?” she said loudly. “Do you think I could sink any lower?”

Bakura smirked, and his eyes flashed to Atem as Seto and Mahad finally rode over the hill behind him.

“Pharaoh!” Mahad called, and Atem turned to see clutched in one of his hands was the Millennium Pendant.

Suddenly, the air broke with the familiar glow of magic — Atem wheeled back around just in time to see Bakura’s  _ ka _ , Diabound, erupting out of the ground between him and Satiah. At this, she was knocked off her feet; when she hit the ground, the spear popped free of her grasp and clattered out of her reach.

_ “Satiah!” _

She groaned as Diabound took to the air and floated back over Bakura’s shoulder like an obedient pet. The thief laughed and rose to his feet again, moving to stand above Satiah’s writhing form. Atem was forced to watch helplessly as Bakura reached down and grabbed Satiah by the throat, lifting her up to stare into her fearful eyes.

“No,” he said, “I think this is as low as you go.” Roughly, he tossed her to the ground, then stepped back behind his  _ ka,  _ laughing maniacally. “Diabound!” he called in a sing-song voice. “Time for dinner!”

Slowly, Diabound’s snake head reared itself above Satiah, who had just managed to draw herself up to her knees. As it bared its pale fangs and coiled back in preparation to strike, Atem was seized with a sudden and instinctive urge — he rushed over to Mahad and ripped the Pendant from his grasp, then held it high in the air. He felt a searing in his forehead as a flash of light erupted before him, streaking across the mesa to cut between Satiah and the threat looming above her. When the light cleared, Atem’s spirit flared with triumph — the Shieldmaiden of Sekhmet had heeded his call, and she now stood over his wife with her shield angled high, keeping Diabound’s snake fangs at bay.

In the long, drawn moments that followed, Atem felt as if his body were moving on its own: he thrust the Pendant out again, summoning forth another spirit — the Servant of Ptah, Metjen’s _ka_ — who curled its mummified hands and levitated two nearby boulders, lifting and positioning them across the gap between the ridge and the mesa. Atem bravely walked over the floating stones, still holding the Pendant out before him.

By now, Bakura’s eyes had flown wide in disbelief, and he stood frozen behind his  _ ka _ while Diabound and the Shieldmaiden continued to grapple above Satiah. As Atem walked calmly in their direction, a wave of warmth swelled within his heart, and before him appeared yet another spirit — his father’s, the Wise Sphinx. It dropped gracefully down to the ground and lifted one of its slender lion’s paws, pulling back the mask over its face. Immediately, the mesa was filled with a high-pitched screech that caused both Bakura and Diabound to reel back and cover their heads. At this, Atem lifted his arm, directing the Shieldmaiden toward his wife. The spirit obeyed, sweeping Satiah into her arms and carrying her back across the mesa to safety.

But Atem wasn’t done. Another lift of his hand brought forth two new spirits — his brother’s, the Tomb Guardian, and at last, his own  _ ka _ . As it appeared, the Magician’s Apprentice seemed to instantly read its master’s mind — it muttered an ancient spell, causing a deep, arcane glow to envelop him, only to be cast forward a moment later to surround the Tomb Guardian. The hulking beast growled as this new power flowed through it, setting its black eyes ablaze with rage and vigor. It then turned sharply on Diabound and its master.

At this, fear overtook Bakura, rooting him to the spot as the Tomb Guardian raised its immense hammer high over its head. With a wrathful cry, the ram-headed beast charged at Diabound, who was still reeling from the Sphinx’s hypnosis. A moment later, the air split with the sound of crunching bones and sinew as the Guardian’s hammer connected squarely with Diabound’s chest, caving it in and sending him sailing to the earth.

Bakura doubled over and shrieked in pain, clutching desperately at his own chest. From the corners of his mouth, blood trickled out, coming to join the red rivers already flowing from his nose and torso. Without hesitation, Atem flicked his wrist again, causing his brother’s  _ ka _ to turn its focus directly to Bakura now. The Guardian gripped its hammer and started toward the thief, but its movement was impeded by Diabound, who had somehow managed to summon the strength to latch onto the Guardian’s heel with its snake head, even as the rest of its body lay crumpled in a heap on the ground. The Guardian was forced to grapple with the snake, hampering it long enough for Diabound to seize its chance to flee. It beat its mighty wings, kicking up dust and debris as it took flight across the mesa, grabbing Bakura on the way. With its master hanging limply in its arms, the spirit took to the skies, slowly receding until it disappeared into the blinding rays of Ra’s embrace.

Instantly, Atem felt the fire dying in his soul, leaving nothing but a raw pain that drove like a stake down through his head. Darkness closed in around his eyes, which teetered between the ground and the sky as a weakness seized him, bringing him crashing to the earth. The thundering of his own heartbeat muffled the panicked shouts that followed. He stayed conscious only long enough to see the five spirits he’d summoned dissolving into the morning light, leaving nothing in his blurred vision but Satiah, her face eclipsing the sun as she fell to her knees before him.

* * *

Not even the warm waters of a bath could heal Atem’s broken spirit. He sat curled in the corner of the spa, legs drawn up on the stone seat beneath him, surrounded by rippling water and swirling steam. His mind was somehow both racing and blank, resisting the pull of thought in favor of safe nothingness. 

In truth, he could barely remember how he came to be where he was — he’d lost hours of time, somewhere between collapsing on the mesa and being carried into the palace by Seto and Mahad. 

But no matter how hard he tried to forget — he could not scrub the memory of his father’s soul being ripped mercilessly from his body.

Wincing with pain, both mental and physical, Atem turned and folded his arms over the edge of the spa, resting his chin on top. As he did, his eyes were drawn over to the bench against the wall of the bathhouse. Sitting among his tattered and dirtied clothes was the Millennium Pendant, shining bright even through the thick steam. Just this fleeting glance caused Atem to be struck with another memory — one of heat and rage and power. He remembered with primal intensity how the spirits had come forth at his command, one after another, each of them drawing on a strength that had been lying dormant within him until that very moment. Where was that strength now, he wondered — and why had it left him feeling so utterly empty in its wake?

Atem was forced to abandon his search for the answers at the sound of the door opening behind him. Thinking it was just another servant come to stoke the fire, he did not bother to turn around. But a moment later, his eyes were drawn downward when the surface of the water broke around him in gentle ripples. In the shattered reflection, he saw two amber eyes gazing down at him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Satiah lowering herself to the stone seat behind him. 

Her face looked pained and pale, accentuating the crimson hue of fresh bruises flaring on her cheekbone and across her throat. More uncomfortable memories threatened to invade his mind, but his thoughts were suddenly quelled to silence at the feel of her hands sliding slick around his chest, folding him into her familiar embrace. In that moment, nothing else in the world existed — not the Millennium Items, not the thief Bakura, nor a single priest or peasant in the entire kingdom of Egypt. Just he and his wife, tangled together in water and warmth. Atem reached a hand up to hang loosely from her wrist and leaned his head against her cheek, closing his eyes.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you too,” he whispered, feeling his own breath circling in the curve of her neck.

“You’d go on,” she said. “Just as we all do when we lose someone dear to us. You’d go on … and rule this land justly and rightly, as your father did — and his father before him.” 

Atem felt the words weighing as heavy as anchors on his spirit — but reliably, Satiah kept him afloat, her measured voice a lifeline among the thrashing waves of reality.

“This may not be the life you wanted… Or even the one you were born for. But it is the one you were given.” She paused, as if she too feared she might be drowned by the truth of her words. “Now, it’s up to you to decide what to do with it.”


	26. Dusk

Satiah soon lost count of the days she’d woken up without her husband beside her. In truth, it was a rare occurrence when she saw him in their bedchamber at all — his new obligations as Pharaoh often kept him away long into the night, and while she sometimes crossed paths with him in the palace halls or for brief meals on the terrace, they hardly ever spent a waking moment together in private. 

Any words they did share were usually related to matters of state in some way or another. Things had moved fast in the month since Aknamkanon’s death, with countless visits from Egypt’s many nomarchs, who came to pay their respects to the fallen king and his newly ascended heir. While Atem proved himself a fast learner in the art of politics, it was clear he was struggling to manage all the governing duties with the death of his father still fresh in his mind. To help ease the burden, Shimon had vacated his position as Guardian of the Millennium Key, allowing him to serve a more active role in counseling the Pharaoh. Guardianship of the Key had gone to a young priest by the name of Shada, who hailed from Abdju. In addition, Mahad had finally been named the official Guardian of the Ring. Between all the personnel changes and preparing for his father’s entombment, Atem had hardly any time for rest or relaxation.

Satiah’s days, too, were busier than ever — Atem had asked her to lead the investigation into the Giza pyramids, in the hopes that they might uncover the secrets of the Holy Gods sleeping beneath them. Satiah was finding it to be a particularly difficult task — like Ramesses’ tomb, the burial chambers within the pyramids had long since been fully explored and charted, and there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary about any of them. Regardless, Satiah worked closely with her father and the historians of the surrounding nomes to continue the search for clues, but she knew dusty scrolls and ancient riddles would only get them so far — it would only be a matter of time before they’d have to set sail for Giza themselves.

As Satiah rolled over in her empty bed and stared at the ceiling, she wondered if she should be happy about the possibility of returning to Lower Egypt. If they did, the royal court would certainly need a place to stay, and with its proximity to the Giza plateau, Memphis would be the obvious choice. Though it had been barely two months since she left her home, it felt to Satiah like a decade had already passed. What would her beloved city look like now, with Aknadin heading the Conclave? Would she still recognize the white temples and well-worn streets? Would her family’s villa even still be standing?

Satiah’s musings were interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. With a deep breath, she called back: “Come in.”

Tuya then entered, smiling as she hustled forward with a breakfast tray in hand. Satiah sat up and stretched, yawning a muffled greeting to her handmaiden.

“Good morning, my queen.”

Satiah felt a shiver as she threw her sheets back — she still hadn’t gotten used to her new designation, nor any of the formalities and honorifics that went with it. But as usual, Tuya was unfazed — after placing the tray on the table, she headed to the wardrobe and began putting together an outfit for the day. 

Satiah stood, grabbing a sweet cake from the tray and taking a bite. “Any news?” she said, mouth half-full.

“Yes, actually,” Tuya called back. “The Pharaoh would like to speak with you and your father in the throne room once you’ve eaten.”

Satiah felt a twist of unease in her stomach at the words, but she had little time to consider them before Tuya gasped loudly behind her. Startled, Satiah looked over her shoulder, then followed Tuya’s eyeline to the back of her sleeping gown. There, flaring red at the seat of the skirt, was a small but distinct bloodstain.

Satiah pursed her lips and spun instinctively away, embarrassed. After a moment, Tuya’s stunned look melted away into pity, and she swept over to pull the dress up and inspect the red mark. With her cheeks burning, Satiah looked over at the bed. Sure enough, another small stain had transferred onto the sheets as well.

Offering a sympathetic smile, Tuya released the gown and crossed to the vanity, upon which last night’s washing basin still sat. She soaked a rag in the water and wrung it out, then turned and offered it to Satiah. Still too ashamed to meet her handmaiden’s eyes, Satiah took it, along with the clean dress slung over the wardrobe, and disappeared behind the nearby dressing screen. There, she hurriedly removed her soiled gown, cleaned herself up, and pulled on the fresh dress. As she emerged, Tuya was already waiting with a menstrual belt — a thick pad of papyrus fibers wrapped in cotton and strung with ties to hold it in place. Satiah quickly stepped into it and knotted the strings around her waist beneath her skirt.

Meanwhile, Tuya busied herself stripping the sheets from the bed. With a sharp exhale, Satiah gathered herself and moved to help. She didn’t understand why she was so flustered — Tuya had witnessed such a sight dozens of times before, some much more gruesome than this. And yet, Satiah couldn’t help feeling like a nervous teenager again.

“I suppose there won’t be any little princes or princesses running the halls just yet,” Tuya teased.

Satiah knew Tuya was trying to console her, but it still felt a bit like an admonishment. “Well, for that to happen, we’d have to be trying,” she said flatly.

Tuya faltered a moment and flashed her eyes up. “You mean…?”

“Our union has yet to be consummated,” Satiah muttered, with a bite of self-pity.

Tuya cleared her throat. “That’s understandable,” she said, resuming her work. “These past months have been rather … fraught.”

Satiah balled up a dirty sheet, then sat on the edge of the bed, sighing. “I wish I could blame it on that,” she said. “In truth, it has much more to do with my own selfishness.”

Tuya came around and sat down as well, resting a hand over Satiah’s. “Whatever do you mean, my queen?”

Satiah looked up at her handmaiden, feeling somewhat comforted by the compassion in her warm eyes. Tuya herself was a mother — she’d left behind two sons in Memphis, though they were both grown and living on their own now. Still, Tuya hadn’t hesitated a moment when Satiah asked her to come to Thebes, even knowing it might be any number of months or even years before she saw her children again.

“How easy it is to make a child,” Satiah lilted, “and yet how hard it is to bear one.” Tuya let slip a small chuckle at this. Satiah flashed a smile, then looked down at her lap. “My own mother gave her life to bring me into this world,” she went on, gripping lightly to Tuya’s hand. “I’m just … not sure I’d ever be ready to make such a sacrifice.”

Tuya’s face softened with pity. She opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Huffing, Satiah turned. “Yes?”

Shimon poked his head through the door, offering a timid smile. “The Pharaoh is ready for you, your highness.”

Satiah released Tuya’s hand and stood. “I’ll be right down.”

...

As Satiah rounded the corner toward the throne room, she spotted her father already waiting outside the entrance, pacing nervously. He was dressed in his best robes and looked to have recently trimmed his hair and beard. Bemused, Satiah approached and pulled him from his contemplation with a clear of her throat. He jumped a bit, then settled when he met her eyes.

“Sati,” he said, reaching out to pull her in for a hug.

Satiah returned it, then tugged on his robes as she backed away. “What’s all this about?”

“Oh,” he said, abashed. “Well, it’s my first face-to-face audience with the new Pharaoh. I wanted to make a good impression.”

Satiah sputtered a laugh. “He’s seen you in a jail cell, Father. There’s no coming back from that.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grinned and clicked his tongue, then turned to the dark entryway of the throne room. “What do you think he wants?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Satiah sighed, gazing down the hall as well. At this distance she could just barely make out a shadowy figure standing at the foot of the throne. “We barely see each other these days. We’re both so busy.”

Suddenly, her father turned to her, his amused smile turning to one of pride. “Look at you. My daughter, Queen of Egypt. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d say those words.”

“I feel like I should be offended by that.”

“Will you have me clapped in irons again for such a transgression?”

Satiah stifled a laugh and elbowed him in the side. “Come, let’s not keep our king waiting.”

She turned and led the way into the throne room, allowing her a better view of the figure at the foot of the throne. Her stomach lurched to see none other than Aknadin standing before the king — finally returned from Memphis, just in time to witness the former king being entombed.

Indifferent to the arrival of the stuffy priest, Satiah let her eyes roam up to her husband instead, inspecting his proud posture and dispassionate expression. He’d undergone a change since the death of his father — subtle, yet distinct. He was not simply bereft as he had been after his brother’s passing — but rather colder, harder — as if there was somehow _more_ of him now, not less.

He quickly noticed their approach, and Satiah couldn’t help but smile at the way he sat up straighter, his chest rising with a deep breath.

“Greetings,” he said, his steady voice carrying clear across the chamber. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Metjen.”

Satiah watched as her father stooped to a low bow. While he did, Aknadin’s lips curled with a slight sneer.

“I am at your highness’s humble service,” Metjen said, straightening. “Welcome back to the capital, Guardian Aknadin. I trust Memphis has been treating you well.”

Aknadin said nothing, and Atem was quick to clear his throat. “Have there been any discoveries in your search of the archives?” he asked.

Metjen shook his head. “Nothing of note, your highness. But my brothers from Min just arrived yesterday with a shipment of scrolls. I have faith we will have a breakthrough soon.”

“Good,” the Pharaoh confirmed. “Aknadin has also brought with him a collection of documents from Memphis. I’m having them sent to Karnak as we speak — I’d like you to put them at the top of your pile.”

“Certainly, my king,” Metjen confirmed. “Will that be all?”

“No,” Atem said quickly. His expression suddenly became tense, and Satiah felt a twist of unease in her gut. “As you know, we are interring my father tonight at dusk,” he went on. “I’d like for you to attend if possible.”

Satiah’s father shot her a sidelong glance. “It would be my honor, Pharaoh.”

“And—” Atem pursed his lips, then flashed his eyes at Satiah. “Upon your return, you and your daughter will have your _ka_ restored to you.”

All the air left Satiah’s lungs. In the hushed moment that followed, the only thing she could hear was the hammering of her heart against her chest.

“Do my ears deceive me?” her father whispered, and Satiah turned to see his eyes had flashed as wide as her own. “I pray you, Pharaoh — my heart could not take such a promise unkept.”

“You have my word,” Atem affirmed. “Both of you will be absolved of your past crimes, and you will be allowed to reclaim your spirits.”

In her awe, Satiah almost failed to notice the look of disdain spreading upon Aknadin’s features. He turned to Atem, then bowed his head lightly.

“My king, is this wise?” he said, his voice tight. “How would it look to your governors if you were to use your first decree as Pharaoh to undo your father’s last?”

“Surely no worse than for the Queen of Egypt to be without her _ka_ ,” Atem said sharply. Satiah could have sworn she heard the edge of the former Pharaoh’s voice beneath her husband’s. “My word is final,” he went on. “I did not make this decision lightly, and I trust Metjen and Satiah will do nothing to make me regret it.”

Her father sputtered a grateful sound, stooping into a full kneeling bow again. “With the gods as my witness, I promise I will not squander this gift.”

Satiah lowered her head as well, fighting a sting of tears coming to her eyes. “Thank you, Pharaoh.”

He made a low sound of acknowledgement, then waved his hand to them. “That will be all,” he said. “We shall speak again this evening.”

* * *

Satiah paced the bedchamber floor as she watched the sun sinking toward the Valley of the Kings in the distance. Her heart hadn’t stopped fluttering since the morning, and the rest of the daylight hours had passed like a dream — a beautiful, blissful dream, but one which might end at any moment and send her plunging back into a disappointing reality. She found herself repeating Atem’s words over and over again in her head, afraid she might discover some flaw or inconsistency that would shatter this illusion. She found none, but she knew she’d never be fully convinced until she looked into her husband’s eyes.

She’d considered seeking him out herself many times throughout the day, and had even asked Shimon for a short audience with him in the afternoon, but the vizier admitted Atem had been called away to the embalming chambers — likely to bestow the final blessings on his father’s body before it was prepared for transport. Resigned, Satiah had stolen away to their bedchamber, hopeful that he would come back to it before they were called to board the ship bound for the Valley.

Impatience clawed uncomfortably at her back as she paced, her eyes flicking every which way around the chamber, looking for things with which to busy herself. She walked over to the table and mindlessly tidied a few stacks of papyri. As she did, she noticed the pile of bronze pieces sitting in the center of the table. Somehow, between all his duties and responsibilities, Atem had still found time to work on the puzzle: The three hexagonal blocks he’d started with were now seven, with four of them already fitted together in a vaguely tower-like structure. Satiah smiled idly as she surveyed his work — his patience and keen eye never ceased to amaze her.

Charmed by these thoughts, Satiah almost didn’t notice when the door creaked open behind her. As a shadow caught her eye, she spun, and her heart soared to the heavens upon setting her gaze on her husband — the Pharaoh. He stood in the doorway a moment, wearing a subdued smile. The subtle curve of his lips struck her to stillness, her breath stinging where it lay trapped in her lungs. Finally, he moved further into the room, and Satiah found herself rushing to meet him, throwing herself into his arms and crashing her lips into his. She filled her kiss with gratitude and devotion, and it set her heart alight to feel him return it all in kind, his hands nestled warmly into the small of her back.

When at last she pulled away, Satiah held his flushed cheeks in her hands. A storm of words gathered on the tip of her tongue, which was now running numb with elation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

The sober smile on his lips fell away slightly, and he reached up to take one of her hands in his. “I only just made the decision this morning,” he admitted.

Satiah was surprised when a hint of shame came to his features, and she felt the fire in her heart threatening to dwindle. “Did the others advise against it?”

He was quick to shake his head. “I told no one,” he said firmly. “But it pains me to admit it still wasn’t an easy decision. It felt like betrayal to undo my father’s wishes.”

Satiah clenched her jaw and backed up a bit, far enough to truly look into his tepid eyes. “Have we not proven our loyalty?” she asked.

Atem sighed sharply. “Loyalty has little to do with it.”

“What then?”

He lowered his eyes, and Satiah just now noticed that she was holding so tight to his hand, her nails were digging into his palm. She slackened her grip, and her frustration turned to guilt as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the top of it. He looked back up at her, his eyes wistfully searching her own.

“When I saw you come face to face with that monster, I’d never felt such fear,” he said, his voice heavy with contrition. “Not only because I was worried I’d lose you — but because I knew if you’d had the strength of your spirit, I would have had no reason to worry at all. And I knew…” He paused, looking over his shoulder toward the rays of dusk streaming in through the window. “I knew if there’d been any justice in this world, you never would have been there in the first place.”

Satiah felt the smoldering coals in her heart flare to life again. “Do you remember what you said to me on our wedding night?” she asked, leaning forward to catch his wandering eyes. “You said … that you would never let our marriage be burdened by the sins of our kin. And you haven’t. Not once.” She stroked a finger across his cheek, bringing a slight smile back to his face. “The truth is, _I_ was the one who made the choice to do what I did. Not you. Not your father — nor mine.”

His brow creased as he considered her words, revealing a quiet thoughtfulness that Satiah always found utterly endearing. She smiled ruefully thinking back on their first meeting — and how bitter and resentful she’d been. Now, it felt good to be vulnerable — to be so close to this man from whom she had once wanted nothing but escape.

“You must not let guilt of the past weigh you down,” she went on. “Your father was a good Pharaoh, no matter his flaws. Perhaps the fairest this country has ever seen. But you, my dear—” He looked at her again, and the light bent around his wide eyes like a solar eclipse. “You are your own man. You have a chance now — a chance to carry on a legacy you can both be proud of.”

Satiah turned her eyes westward, watching the sun king blowing his last breath of light upon the land. 

“That legacy starts tonight.”

* * *

The moon had already risen to its peak by the time the king’s mourners had boarded the ship back to Thebes. As they set off, Atem followed the pale orb with his eyes, feeling its rays beaming down harshly on his face. He wondered where his father’s consciousness might be roaming — if he was currently walking along the sky with Nut, looking down on his own funerary procession; or if he was already wading into A’aru, the field of reeds. Perhaps he had even found Tefnak and Meriti among the water and rushes, ready to take them into his waiting arms. The thought alone was enough to bring tears to Atem’s eyes; he turned his face away from Khonsu’s revealing gaze so as not to show the gods his jealousy.

When he did, he caught sight of Satiah walking near the bow of the ship. He could already see the eager anticipation in her form, even just in the simple way she leaned her weight on the railing and bounced her foot behind her. He wondered when it was he’d become so in tune with her — so aware of all her subtle habits and mannerisms. The early days of their marriage had been haunted by past wrongs and marred with tragedy, and yet somehow, every struggle they overcame only seemed to bring them closer together. It would have been so easy for Satiah to turn away from him at any point over the past two months, and Atem wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. But by some miracle, she’d seen beyond his failures, his shortcomings — and she’d accepted him despite them all.

As Atem watched his wife, a subtle presence pulled him from his deep thoughts. He turned, seeing Isis emerging from the shadows. Her eyes, too, followed Satiah as she came to stand beside her king.

“Pay no attention to Aknadin’s objections,” Isis said, her voice dimmed by the rushing water below. “It was the right decision to restore her _ka_. You have granted her deepest desire — which is something so few of us are able to do.”

Atem couldn’t help but feel gratified to have his judgment validated by arguably the most intuitive member of the royal court. “Will you be able to see her future again when her spirit returns?” he asked.

Isis turned to him at this, offering a knowing smile. “Only what her heart wishes to reveal.”

Atem looked back to his wife, watching the halo of sparkling moonlight following her as she paced down the side of the ship. Satiah was not often forthcoming about her own desires, but she had worn this wish on her sleeve since the day he met her. He wondered what more he could give her that would ever measure up to this.

Atem felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at Isis’s serious face. “For what it’s worth, my king, I have glimpsed her future through your eyes,” she said. “The light has shown me joy — for both of you. But this truth is not cast in stone. You must be brave enough to forge it yourself, or it will fall through your fingers like sand.”

Atem’s heart leapt. He wanted to press her — to find out more about the future she spoke of. But something in her eyes held him back — as if, just by asking her to speak it aloud, her vision might be forever thrown out of his reach.

Isis must have known this too, for she quickly bowed her head and floated away, back into the shadows. When he turned toward the moon again, he met Satiah’s eyes, and he found them already shining with a flicker of bliss.


	27. Stone

Satiah stared into the moonsplashed lowland, where the seven Wedju Shrines stood like silent sentries, guarding hundreds upon hundreds of borrowed spirits. She hadn’t been back inside them since her second day in Thebes, when Atem had called on his mother’s  _ ka. _ Thinking back now, Satiah felt an unexpected knife of guilt at how she’d turned away from the benevolent spirit, who had done nothing but offer up a small token of compassion in a time of sorrow. But the wounds of Metka’s death had been so fresh then — and her anger still so raw. Now, she almost felt a thrill at the thought of walking inside the towering hall — to finally be reunited with her spirit after three long months apart.

A moment later, she heard hushed voices approaching, and she turned to see her husband emerging from the palace with a small attendance in tow — her father, Shimon, and Seto, whose Millennium Item would be needed to release their imprisoned  _ ka. _

Satiah tried to temper the smile that broke unbidden to her face as they approached, but when she saw a similar grin plastered on her father’s features, there was no hope of concealing her excitement. They stood beaming at each other for a moment before Atem lifted his arm to her. “Shall we?”

Satiah threaded her hand beneath his arm and turned, still grinning, to descend the steep stairwell nearby. When they leveled off into the lowland, Satiah couldn’t help but lift her eyes up to the towering obelisk over the Shrine designated for the Pharaoh. It truly was immense and beautiful, even if hauntingly so.

Her smile fell slightly as they entered it, her attention drawn instantly to the back of the chamber, where two stone tablets had been erected — one carved with the visage of her father’s  _ ka _ , and the other bearing the image of her Shieldmaiden. Her heart began to beat wildly against her ribcage, like a bird eager to be free.

Atem turned to her and offered a curt nod, then released her arm to move toward the perimeter of the Shrine. His presence was replaced a moment later by that of her father’s. The sight of his smile warmed her fluttering heart again.

“Step forward.”

Seto’s sharp voice cut across the Shrine, causing Satiah to stand up straight. She squared off against her  _ ka’s _ tablet, then took several long paces toward it, her father doing the same with his. They stopped in the middle of the Shrine, directly beneath the yawning, hollow obelisk.

A moment later, Seto stepped up beside the tablets. He lifted his Rod, its spherical head glowing darkly before two beams of light erupted from it, racing out to strike the stone slabs. 

Satiah winced back as the chamber was suddenly swallowed with bright warmth, but she didn’t need her eyes to know what was happening before her. In her heart, she felt it — the familiar, smoldering glow, the arcane whispers in a language only she could understand. When the light finally dissipated, she looked up to find herself face-to-face with her spiritual reflection — dark, fierce eyes shaded by the pelt of a lion, cascading down battle-worn armor, with rigid arms bearing a spear, and the impenetrable shield which had saved Satiah more times than she could count. The spirit smiled proudly as she looked upon her former master, as if she knew exactly why she had been summoned this night.

Beside the Shieldmaiden, her father’s  _ ka _ also stood, but Satiah felt a flicker of worry to see the Servant of Ptah had completely sealed itself inside its gilded sarcophagus. She looked to her father, finding anxiety painted on his face as well. But a moment later, the cover of the sarcophagus cracked open, swinging outward to reveal the spirit within. Mummified arms unfurled themselves, reaching out to Metjen as if expecting an embrace.

Relief washed over Satiah when she saw her father’s face break with a very pleased grin, but their eyes were redirected again by the sound of Seto’s voice.

“The  _ ka _ have accepted their former vessels,” he announced. “Prepare yourselves to be re-inhabited.”

But he left no time for any preparation. With a sweep of his Rod, Seto sent both  _ ka _ rushing across the Shrine, and Satiah felt as if her chest had been crushed beneath a pile of stones when her spirit collided with her body. A shock of cold rippled along her flesh, replaced a split second afterward with a burning sensation, as if she’d been taken by a deadly fever. Gritting her teeth, Satiah doubled over and hugged her middle, battling each searing wave of vigor and might and terror and ecstasy. Finally, after an agonizing moment, the sensations narrowed to a pinpoint in her heart, causing her to hiss a sharp cry and crash down to all fours.

“Satiah!”

Gasping for breath, she turned up to see Atem pivoting in her direction. His eyes bore worry, but she waved him off and sat up, quickly looking to her father. He, too, was crouched to one knee, his shoulders pulsing raggedly, as if he’d run a mile in noonday heat. But after a moment, he turned and met her eyes, and she knew that all was as it had been, before all the death and destruction, before the marriage and the uprising — before their spirits had been infected with wrathfulness. Choking a sob, Satiah threw her arms around her father’s neck, pressing her cheek into his heaving chest. He held tight to her, and for a moment Satiah felt like she was a child again, her father’s embrace filled with all the same pride he’d shown her after her  _ ka _ had manifested for the very first time.

Once again, Seto interrupted the happy moment. “You may now choose whether or not to destroy the tablet which holds your  _ ka, _ ” he explained.

Satiah released her father and turned to face the priest. “What will happen if we do?” she asked.

“You will become the sole possessor of your spirit, and no spellcaster will ever be able to call upon it again,” Seto said. “But you will no longer be able to send your  _ ka _ to slumber in stone to recover from injuries sustained in battle. Should you be defeated in a duel, your spirit will be forced to repair itself within the vessel of your body—”

Metjen huffed and forced himself back to his feet. “You need not lecture me on the duties of tending to my spirit,” he said contemptuously. “I do not fear the pain of defeat. I will destroy my tablet, so that no man can ever claim my soul for his own.”

Seto nodded. “As you wish.”

Satiah staggered to her feet and watched as her father held his arm out firmly toward his tablet. At this, the Shrine was filled with the sound of cracking stone, which echoed into a thunderous crash against the close walls and sloped ceiling. Dark fractures spidered out along the surface of the slab, and each chunk came crumbling down, one after another, until there was nothing but a pile of smoking rubble on the floor of the Shrine. 

Metjen dropped his arm, looking satisfied. He then turned to Satiah, and all other eyes in the chamber fell to her as well. When a moment ago she’d been comforted by the return of her spirit, Satiah now felt incredibly conflicted. She found her eyes drifting to her husband. To his credit, he managed to keep his features free of virtually any emotion — a skill he’d honed quickly since rising to the throne. But still, somewhere between the misty depths of his eyes and the tight line of his lips, Satiah felt the slightest flicker of doubt — a doubt that caused her arm to tremble as she lifted it toward her tablet. She stared hard at the strange, featureless etching on the surface of the stone, feeling moments passing like hours as her spirit thrashed fervidly in the pit of her stomach.

Finally, with a hiss of defeat, she dropped her arm, turning her reddened face toward the floor. “I will keep my tablet,” she said quietly. When she lifted her head again, she looked not to her father or the slab, but her husband, whose eyes had gone wide in disbelief. “As Queen of Egypt, it is my duty to use my spirit to protect my people. To that end, my  _ ka _ will continue to answer the call of those who are most in need.”

Atem let slip a long, smooth sigh of relief. But Satiah still felt her own worries prickling along her flesh, which sharpened into nails of shame as she turned toward her father. The joy and pride and delight he’d shown her just moments before were now gone, replaced with cold judgment. He lifted his head up, turning to face the king.

“Thank you, Pharaoh,” he said, bowing at the waist. “I will forever remember your kindness and graciousness.”

Without another word, he turned and set off into the night, his shadow clawing its way up the endless wall of stone slabs behind.

* * *

Deep into the night, Atem was awoken from a very pleasant dream by the sound and feel of his wife moving beneath the covers beside him. Inhaling deeply, he looked over to see Satiah turning toward him in her sleep, her heavy head nestling into her feather pillow. He smiled instinctively at the sight, which could only be described as captivating — her breaths whispering in and out from between parted lips, her fingers twitching around the sheets tucked up under her chin. A thin river of her hair was splashed across her face, and Atem, unthinking, lifted a hand to brush it away and allow himself a better view of her peaceful features. At this, her lashes fluttered open, her eyes purging of their dreamy glow as she focused on him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered.

In that gracious way of hers, she smiled, and Atem felt a warm glow kindling in his core. His half-asleep mind was suddenly overpowered by impulse, leading him to lean forward and catch her lips in a soft, but firm kiss. She faltered a moment, but soon gave in to the affections, her shoulders opening to him. 

His fond whims pulled him onward, telling him to deepen this tender moment. Grasping her hand lightly at the palm, he pressed it down into the bed and rose above her, parting his lips to tempt her into him. Distracted by his own desires, he failed to notice the subtle signs of her hesitance — the twinge of her nails on the back of his hand, the slight twist of her head away from him. It wasn’t until she reached her free hand up and pushed gently at his chest that Atem finally pulled back, opening his eyes to stare, startled, down at her. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her hand and falling back to give her space.

Satiah looked up at him, and he was surprised to see a hint of guilt in her eyes. “No…” she hissed. “It’s not you.” 

She exhaled sharply, then rose up onto her elbows, tilting her body back against the headboard. Atem relaxed into a similar position, but in doing so, he lost her eyes. She stared across the room, out the window and into the perfect circle of the moon. The cold light brought all the shadows of her doubt to the surface, and Atem remembered how the same brush strokes had painted her earlier in the Wedju Shrine.

Slowly, he lifted his hand and caressed her arm. “Talk to me,” he said.

It was several long moments, but eventually she turned to face him again, the mechanism of thought clearly ticking behind her eyes. “It’s just…” She trailed off, her hand rising to rest over his where it lay nestled in the crook of her arm. “Have you ever stopped to think about whether you even  _ want  _ to bring a child into this world?”

Atem fought the astonishment he felt creeping into his features, tempering it with a breath so deep it strained at his lungs. The silence gave him an opportunity to consider her words, which conjured up conflicting feelings of duty and desire yet again. Even before he’d risen to the throne, Atem had assumed the winding path of his future would one day lead to fatherhood. But such thoughts had always been lazing in the back of his mind — a whimsical eventuality that would come about when the time was right. Now, with the line of succession whittled away in less than three months, he was beginning to feel the pressure from every angle. Though he tried his best to ignore it, Atem often heard whispers at court about a contingency plan should he meet an untimely end — like his father and brother.

“There’s no rush,” he forced himself to say aloud.

Satiah glanced back at him once again, offering a quiet hum of agreement. Atem knew just from the dry melody in her voice that she was privy to the gossip as well. “I just … worry,” she went on. “With all this talk of darkness and vengeance … I worry about the kind of world my children would inherit. Is it a world I can be proud of, where they would feel safe? Where they have the freedom to choose their own paths?”

Atem sat up straighter and put his arm around Satiah’s shoulders. “We will make it so,” he said firmly, turning down to look into her uncertain eyes. “I promise you. We will not stop until we create a future worthy of the generations to come.”

Satiah flashed a tortured smile, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing a deep breath across his bare skin. Atem slipped a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face back up. “There’s no rush,” he repeated, and then he kissed her again — long and slow and sweet.

* * *

Satiah felt strange finding herself in the Wedju Shrines for the second time in as many weeks, this time without fear or dread weighing heavy in her heart. Atem had asked her to oversee the curation of his own Shrine — the last inheritance passed down from his father upon his burial. The Shrine was a monument to the former Pharaoh’s long and illustrious reign, its walls decorated with dozens upon dozens of spirits collected from all across the kingdom of Egypt. But now, it was being culled to make room for the new king’s rising legacy.

In truth, Satiah was stunned when Atem had asked her to take on this task, and her first instinct had been to decline it outright — it still grated her nerves to walk in the shadows of so many imprisoned spirits. But something in the thin, mournful tone of his voice had rendered her unable to deny him. She felt as if she owed this to her husband — to help him purge the last whispers of his father’s tainted dynasty, and lay the groundwork for what was to come.

And so, with a delicate hand, she’d set to work cataloging the Pharaoh’s library of tablets, deciding which ones would remain and which should be removed, hauled off, and buried alongside the former king. She worked closely with Shimon and a collection of older priests of the Conclave, who gave their accounting of each spirit’s origin and their assessment on its worth to the new Pharaoh’s collection. To their credit, they were sensitive with their words, never disparaging a  _ ka _ or its vessel. Still, by the time they were nearing the end of their work, Satiah’s newly renewed spirit had been worn nearly ragged from the labor of making so many weighty decisions.

As they came upon the fourth and final wall, Satiah found her eyes drawn instantly to the top of the altar at the back of the Shrine. A good deal of Aknamkanon’s most trusted tablets had already been removed from the flat wall at the top of the stairs, leaving only his own slab and those of his family.

“We will need to adjust the layout so that his highness’s tablet is at the center of the altar,” Shimon mused, looking over the long roll of papyrus in his hands. He glanced up at Satiah over the page, looking somewhat abashed. “That just leaves the positioning of your own vessel, my queen.”

Swallowing hard, Satiah looked back up at the wall above the altar, tracing her eyes over the familiar carvings of the  _ ka _ belonging to the king’s father, brother and mother. She was having a hard time imagining her own slab hoisted up beside them, forever immortalized in the company of a family she had once cursed.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of a guard trotting up behind them. Satiah turned, grateful for the interruption.

“My queen,” the guard said, bowing. “There is a visitor asking after you outside.”

Satiah nodded her understanding and excused herself from the gaggle of old priests. She followed swiftly after the messenger into the open air, barely giving a thought to whom the visitor might be. But a jolt of anxiety returned to her heart as her gaze fell upon her father, standing on the threshold, bathed in bright daylight.

Satiah stopped short, watching as he traced his eyes along the Shrine behind her. Eventually, he lowered his stare, and her heart lifted a bit when he smiled ever so slightly, drifting closer to her with meandering steps. As he did, Satiah saw that he was cradling a tightly rolled scroll up against his chest.

“Cleaning house, are we?” he said, somewhat flippantly.

Satiah pursed her lips, trying not to look defensive.

“I’m surprised he trusted you to do it,” he went on. “If it were me, I would have turned every single tablet to dust by now.”

Satiah swallowed the knot in her throat. “It’s hard to look at them and see anything but stolen legacies,” she admitted, looking back to watch the shadows of soldiers working within the Shrine. “But it’s not that simple. Our lives are made up of so much more than just what we leave behind.”

After a long moment, Satiah turned to her father again, surprised to see the late afternoon sun illuminating a hint of pride on his features.

“You’ve changed so much,” he said, moving even closer to her. There, he lifted a hand and rested it on her shoulder, his dark eyes shining. “I want you to know that I don’t blame you, Sati. Not for a moment. I knew one day I’d have to say goodbye to my little girl. I just didn’t think it’d come so soon.” Satiah felt warmth flaring on her cheeks. “But I am glad that I now have my spirit to comfort me in your absence. It will never replace you, but nothing in this world ever could.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Father,” Satiah said, surprised by how urgent she sounded.

“Perhaps,” he said, concealing his wistfulness with another twinkling smile. He lowered his eyes to his shoulder, then cleared his throat and extended the long scroll he held. “Here — the purpose of my visit today.”

Satiah creased her brow and took the papyrus, unrolling one of the corners to see weathered hieroglyphs on the surface. “What is this?”

“One of the documents Aknadin brought from Memphis,” he said. “I do believe the Pharaoh will find it most intriguing.”

“Don’t you want to deliver it to him yourself?” she asked.

“I can’t,” he said quickly. “Many more withering scrolls and dusty tomes in need of my eyes back at the temple.”

Satiah gave him a reproachful look, but he simply smiled on.

“Goodbye, Sati,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her cheek. “I’ll be back if we find anything else of interest.”

He bowed slightly as he backed away — a strange and deferential motion, which she found strikingly unbefitting of her father. Turning, he melted into the shadows of the other Shrines, leaving Satiah feeling stone cold, even in the beating sun. 


	28. Chosen

Atem sighed as he entered his bedchamber after what had been a long and arduous day at court. For the better part of the evening, he’d been forced to mediate a truly frivolous dispute between two landowners — one of whom  _ insisted  _ that the other had been encroaching on the property line of his farm by inches for the last six months. On any other day, Atem might have dismissed them both without another thought, but in truth, he was glad for the distraction from the larger issues at hand — most notably, the culling of his father’s Shrine, and, of course, the ever-looming search to unlock the secrets of the Great Pyramids. 

Every other governing issue seemed miniscule compared to this pursuit — the one his father had given his very life to preserve. Though the directive to secure the Holy  _ Ka _ had been handed down by the very gods themselves, Atem felt utterly lost about where to turn next. He’d considered many times returning to the chamber beneath Kul Elna to ask the gods for guidance, but his heart always felt heavy at the thought. Would he be brave enough to stand in the shadow of his father’s sins — and strong enough to resist the temptation to repeat them?

With another deep exhale, Atem crossed the room to his table and sank down into the chair before it, looking down at the nearly-complete puzzle on the surface. Whenever he found himself plagued with troublesome thoughts, fiddling with the pieces and mechanisms always seemed to settle his mind a bit. He knew he was close to solving it, but the object’s purpose was still a mystery to him. He’d managed to piece together all eight of the hexagonal blocks into a single, cylindrical tower, with each block spinning freely along a vertical axis running through it. Atem noticed that the hexagons each turned in precise intervals, and they could be aligned so that their sides were flush together all the way down. This led him to wonder if perhaps it was meant to be some kind of timekeeping device or stylized abacus; however, each outward-facing plane was completely blank, leaving him utterly bewildered as to what the device might measure or count.

Lost in his musings, Atem almost didn’t notice a presence entering the chamber across from him. He turned, delighted to see Satiah standing just inside the door. The first thing he noticed was the way the sunsetting light flickered off the crown of her head, and as he looked closer, he realized she was wearing the headdress he’d given her on their wedding night. His heart warmed with pride as he traced his eyes along the threads of gold framing her smiling face. In that moment, she looked truly like a queen — her authority and grace magnified by the glowing, golden halo.

“What’s this?” she lilted. “The Pharaoh in his bedchamber — doing something  _ other _ than sleeping?”

Atem broke his gaze away from the headdress and cracked a smirk. “The Pharaoh ends the day when he wants to.”

Satiah laughed wryly, meandering closer to him. As she did, Atem noticed she was carrying a large scroll beneath her arm. “Does that mean you’ve been  _ trying  _ to avoid me all these weeks?” She stopped before him and clicked her tongue. “I’m not sure how to feel about that.”

Atem bit his lip to hide his growing smile. He knew better than to challenge Satiah to a banter of wits. “Well, you could always use your power as Queen to … overrule me.” He began reaching his hand toward her waist, but Satiah grabbed the scroll from under her arm and slapped it into his open palm.

“If you insist,” she said. “I’m afraid your day isn’t quite done yet.”

Atem took the document and gave her a questioning look.

“A scroll from Memphis,” she answered, “courtesy of my father.”

A flicker of anxiety returned to his stomach. “What does it say?”

“He didn’t tell me,” she said. “Come. Let’s read it together.”

With that, she reached across the table and pushed aside the puzzle, creating a void just barely large enough to fit the enormous scroll. She held one side while Atem unrolled the other, and they anchored it down to the surface of the table with various heavy objects. Sitting back, Atem traced his eyes all along the weathered surface of the papyrus. He caught sight of several emphasized words and phrases, chief among them being the cartouches of Ramesses and Amenhotep, but he also spied Khufu’s name among the faded glyphs. As with the previous scroll, there were also images painted in among the symbols — small scenes of pharaonic figures sitting upon their thrones or invoking magic. But very clearly drawn across the top of the page, rising up out of a thrashing desert, were sprawling paintings of the three Great Pyramids.

After finding the first line of text and lowering his finger to it, Atem cleared his throat and read aloud:

“‘For five long years, the Kingdom of Egypt suffered the tyranny of Amenhotep. Darkness reigned, with devil  _ ka _ roaming the lands and plagues descending from the sky. But in the north, light would soon gather. Ramesses — born of the Nile’s wild delta, cradled in the bosom of her plains, and nursed from her waters — rises up as challenger to Amenhotep’s heresy.

‘Together with the warlords of the north, Ramesses marched upon Thebes, winning battle after battle and taking back land in the name of the Order of Light. At the battle of Kul Elna, Ramesses slew the servant priests of Amenhotep, claiming for his spoils the legendary Tome of Coming Forth By Day.

‘In treating with his holy patrons, Ramesses came to know of the defiling of the great Tome, whereby words of darkness were immortalized alongside the grace of Light. When first Ramesses tried to destroy the Tome, the King of Darkness struck back — and in a single night, ninety-nine of Ramesses’ strongest priests were taken in their sleep by a ravenous fever.’”

Atem paused and let slip a long sigh.

“Horrible,” Satiah agreed. She reclined against the armrest of his chair and laid a hand on his shoulder, urging him to continue.

“‘Crippled and fearful, Ramesses retreated to the safety of his homeland. For two seasons, the warlords of the north kept the heretic king at bay while Ramesses rallied from his losses. Knowing he would stand no chance against his foe without divine intervention, Ramesses resigned himself to the deep wisdom contained within the Tome. There, he found the blessed words needed to unleash the  _ ka _ of the three Holy Gods, bequeathed long ago by the Order of Light to Khufu and his lineage.

‘Khufu the Father was gifted with the  _ ka _ of Ra _ ,  _ whose fiery Blaze spreads truth and grace across the lands of Egypt.

‘Khafra the Son was then graced by the virtue and wisdom of Osiris’  _ ka,  _ whose Thunder cleaves the heavens above.

‘As the last of this line, Menkaura the Grandson was blessed with the  _ ka _ of Horus, whose mighty Hand judges evil and delivers righteous justice.’”

Satiah reached out and traced her fingers along the names of the Pharaohs and their patrons. “Three Holy Gods…” she whispered. “Just as Ma’at told us.”

Atem nodded, though his eyes had long since floated back up to the words naming the Millennium Tome. After another clear of his throat, he read on: “‘With reverence, Ramesses descended into the tomb of Menkaura to beg the grace of Horus. After a great trial beneath the pyramid, he conquered the mighty  _ Ka _ and emerged as Chosen Sovereign — the blood of a new royal dynasty. Ramesses rallied his armies and descended upon Thebes, where he slew the heretic and took up his throne as Egypt’s new and rightful God-King.’”

Atem paused, drawing his hand up under his chin in thought. 

“So this confirms it,” Satiah said. “The Holy  _ Ka _ are sealed beneath the pyramids. But how do we seek an audience with them?”

Atem shook his head and continued: “‘With his first act as king, Ramesses sought to purge the heresy of Amenhotep from the land. He executed the heretic priests of darkness, destroyed all written records of their spells, and forever forbade the teaching of such magic. And though he could not truly rid the world of the tainted Tome, he would soon offer it back to the protection of his patrons, swearing never to let its words touch the tongue of another except through the blessing of the Gods of Light.’”

Atem sat back and sighed deeply as the last sentence of the scroll left his tongue. His thoughts wheeled like stars, trying to find meaning amongst this immense, harrowing legend.

Suddenly, Satiah stretched her arm out toward the last column of text. “What’s this?” Her fingers circled around a drawing toward the bottom of the page — a painting of Ramesses, holding a strange, cylindrical object against his breast.

Atem furrowed his brows and leaned back over the scroll, squinting closer at the small painting. Satiah followed, until her nose was almost touching his as they sought to decipher the image.

“Is that—?” Satiah drew back sharply, her eyes snapping over her shoulder. “Is that what I think it is?”

Atem’s eyes went wide as he followed her gaze, directly to the puzzle that lay on the other end of the table. Swiftly, Satiah reached out and grabbed it, holding it over the drawing on the scroll.

“Gods,” she whispered. “It’s nearly identical!”

Atem could feel his heart begin to thrum, but he couldn’t tell if it was excitement or anxiety which clawed at his chest.

“But… What is it?” Satiah went on, turning the puzzle over in her hands.

Atem shook his head again. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I never did finish it.”

Satiah hummed her curiosity. “It looks complete to me,” she said. “You’re sure there are no other pieces left?”

Atem nodded, pulling the ceramic box forward and removing the cover to reveal its empty interior. “Though—” he put the box down and folded his hands over hers, tilting the puzzle up on one end. “There does appear to be a void where a piece should fit.” He pointed to the very top of the object, where a small rectangular slot took shape between the bronze pieces, barely visible even in the bright midmorning light.

Satiah tilted her head in thought, then turned her attention back to the puzzle. Meanwhile, Atem lowered his gaze to the box again, his eyes drawn to the glyphs etched on the surface. The words formed nothing particularly revealing — just a random collection of Ramesses’ various titles and epithets, all surrounding his cartouche in the center of the cover. 

Then, with a gasp, Satiah pointed at the painting again.

Atem looked at the scroll, peering over her finger to see Ramesses’ cartouche drawn just above the image of the puzzle.

It hit Atem like a collapsing dune — he snapped his eyes back to the surface of the box, where he ran his fingers along the curved edges of the nameplate in its center. As he reached the spot where the tangent line met the bottom curve of the cartouche, he saw that part of the ceramic had been chipped away from the etching. But as he looked closer, it seemed less like the etching had been carved  _ from _ the ceramic and more like it had been  _ laid _ into it. He slipped his little finger into the chipped void, and his heart suddenly lurched to life as the etching popped out of alignment.

Hurriedly, Satiah dropped the puzzle to hold the edge of the cover instead, angling it toward the light. Meanwhile, Atem pushed his finger deeper, causing the cartouche etching to lift further away from the ceramic. Carefully, using just the pads of his fingers, he continued to work the etching free, until it completely separated from the ceramic, leaving just the delicate shape of Ramesses’ cartouche in his hands. 

Atem felt his breath holding tight in his throat as he cradled the cool ceramic. It wasn’t big — perhaps two inches tall by an inch wide. But as he weighed the object in his hand, a thought suddenly struck him: the etching, when held sideways, was almost the exact size of the void in the top of the puzzle. He glanced at Satiah, and the look in her eyes told him she’d already had the same thought. She took up the puzzle and held it end-side up, allowing Atem to angle the etching into the slot in the top. Carefully, holding it by the straight side, he slid it into place, hearing a small but noticeable  _ click _ as it stopped perfectly flush with the top of the puzzle.

Light suddenly engulfed their bedchamber, and Atem flinched back, letting the puzzle slip out of his grasp and clatter loudly to the table. He surged out of his chair and caught Satiah in his arms, wheeling around to put his body between her and the scintillating puzzle. With his head craned over his shoulder, he squinted as the light slowly subsided, leaving just a warm and distinctly magical glow around the object. 

Slowly, Atem slackened his grip on Satiah, allowing them both to turn toward the table. But they both winced again as a loud voice suddenly cracked across the chamber — warm and regal, almost godly:

“Atem, son of Aknamkanon — god-king chosen by the Order of Light, and flesh of my flesh. I, Pharaoh Ramesses the Second, speak to you from across the plains of time to deliver news most urgent — and grave.

“If you are hearing this, you have been deemed worthy to inherit the gods’ divine knowledge. When once such words were entrusted to every Pharaoh, Amenhotep’s heretical meddling forced the end of this honorable tradition. Upon my ascension, I forever forbade the teaching of the Holy Language across the land of Egypt, so that the sinister will of my predecessor would never be allowed to infect future generations. Instead, I forged this Codex — an object of my own design — by which only the Chosen Sovereign may interpret the words of our divine masters. Through your completion of this puzzle, and by virtue of your anointed blood, you have earned the right to the knowledge bound within the Tome of Coming Forth By Day.

“However, I must advise extreme caution when translating the spells therein. The pages have been tainted by the King of Darkness, and should you choose to wield his words with an unholy heart, you will bring untold suffering upon the soil of Egypt. Tread carefully, flesh of my flesh — may you walk only along the path of Light, and through your trials may you find the strength to resist the temptation of evil unleashed by our forebears.”

The voice trailed off into a thin echo, and a moment later, the glow winnowed away along with it, leaving them in a deep and diverging silence.

* * *

Atem swept his eyes across the stunned faces of his advisors, their expressions of shock and contemplation showing stark in the light pouring from the great hall’s windows. They’d just witnessed the Codex puzzle in action, and while the Guardians were not graced by the words of the Great King as he and Satiah had been, their awe over the artifact was no less apparent.

Along with the Millennium Tome and Metjen’s scroll, the Codex now sat on the table between the group of them. The artifact was surrounded by a faint halo of golden light, which seemed to be emanating from inside the object itself. The light projected strange, scratchy symbols all around the artifact’s otherwise blank rings — symbols which matched perfectly to the language inscribed within the Millennium Tome. 

After Ramesses’ voice had left them, Satiah and Atem had spent the better part of an hour deciding what to do next. Eventually, Atem convinced her to come with him beneath the palace, where the Millennium Tome had been protected under lock and key for nearly a decade. Carefully, he had opened the Tome to its first page, and Satiah, using the Codex, began mimicking the arrangement of the symbols within. Once she’d run out of space on the Codex, it flashed a bright light, replacing the foreign symbols with recognizable hieroglyphs spelling out a single phrase: “The Gods of Light came forth by day.”

Now, after Atem had finished demonstrating the artifact’s power before his court, words still escaped them several moments later. Atem, too, could find nothing to say — his own mind still filled to the brim with the wondrous, terrifying words spoken to him by Ramesses.

Finally, Aknadin looked up from the Codex, but Atem was surprised to see the priest’s eyes drawn first to Satiah.

“Where did you say you found this object?” he asked in a dark tone.

Satiah blinked, her posture stiffening. “In the Memphis bazaar,” she said simply. “A traveling trader. He sold mostly worthless trinkets and silks from the north. There was nothing remarkable about him or his stock.”

Karim made a low, disapproving noise. “He could have been a spy,” the priest said. “This item may be hiding danger, my king. I advise we break it back down and have it thoroughly searched.”

Atem flexed his jaw. “I’m afraid we don’t have the luxury of such caution,” he said. “We have no choice but to trust its authenticity for the time being. Even now, our enemies gather in the shadows—”

“Enemies?” Seto cut in, his face etched with skepticism. “You mean the cowardly thief Bakura? Your highness sent him scurrying back to his den, licking his wounds. Let us waste no more time on the cur.”

“I would advise against such heedlessness, Guardian Seto,” Mahad said. As always, his voice was measured and precise. “Bakura has proven time and again that he is not to be taken lightly.”

Atem gave a firm nod of agreement.

“But what would you have us do, Pharaoh?” Atem looked to Isis, whose eyes were filled with peculiar unknowing.

Suddenly, Aknadin reached for the Codex. “It’s obvious — we must begin translating the spells within—”

Atem surged forward and laid his hand over the artifact. “No,” he said firmly. “I alone must be the one to shoulder this task.”

Aknadin looked dismayed. “But, my king—”

“My father once entrusted his priests with this seminal work,” Atem shot back, “to his own ruin.” His fingers quivered as he held to the Codex. “I will not make the same mistake.”

Even without looking, Atem could feel his wife’s gaze searing into his head from where she stood beside him. He fought the urge to turn to her, instead continuing to scan the faces of his court.

“Our Pharaoh has spoken,” Shimon finally said, and Atem was as glad as ever to have the wise vizier’s support. “Let no man touch this artifact but our king — and our queen.”

Finally, Atem swept his eyes to Satiah, surprised to see her looking not worried or angry, but determined. She took a step forward, her headdress flashing brightly as the evening sun crawled up her body.

“I have another topic for consideration, if it please the court,” she said, her voice steady. Atem watched, fascinated, as she reached across the table and straightened the scroll given to her by her father. “This scroll could not be more clear — the Holy  _ Ka _ are almost certainly entombed alongside their former masters at Giza. I propose that we make a voyage north, and garrison at Memphis while we prepare to infiltrate the pyramids — once the Pharaoh and I translate the spells needed to unlock them.”

The court was again drawn to silence in the wake of Satiah’s words.

Finally, Shimon cracked a small smile. “An astute plan, my queen,” he said. “Memphis is well-positioned near the Giza plateau, and the holy city will surely offer many resources to aid in our efforts.”

Again, the skeptical Seto stepped forward. “But we don’t know how long this quest will take,” he said. “Is it wise for the king to be away from the capital for so long?”

“A good Pharaoh is capable of ruling his kingdom from anywhere,” Satiah retorted. Atem felt his heart glowing with confidence. “Should we expect our king to stay forever in his palace?”

Seto seemed to have nothing to say to this, though his eyes remained veiled and skeptical. Atem could see hesitance seeping from Aknadin as well, perhaps because it had once been his own duty to rule over Memphis and its surrounding nome. Atem spoke quickly to quell his advisors’ reservations. “It’s settled then,” he said. “Karim, send a message to the Memphis Conclave to expect a visit from their king.” Atem turned again to face his wife, finding her face alight with a proud smile. “We will leave in two weeks’ time.”


	29. Expect

Atem stood just outside the westernmost pylon of the palace, morning sun at his back, watching as the last of the cargo was loaded onto the royal ship in preparation for their journey to Memphis. Despite the fact no one knew how long they would be gone, Atem had insisted they take only what was necessary — scrolls and important documents, clothing, and other irreplaceable personal effects. Everything else would be provided by their hosts, the Memphis Conclave, or procured as needed. While Memphis did not have its own palace specific for royal visitors, it was decided they’d make use of the former nomarch’s villa as their temporary living quarters. With its many comfortable suites, central location, and easily fortified layout, it would provide a suitable garrison from which they could plan their strategy for securing the Holy _Ka._

Unfortunately, Atem and Satiah had so far made very little headway on translating the Millennium Tome. As they had no way of knowing which spells would be the ones needed to enter the pyramids, they first needed to translate the Tome’s index, which listed out every spell and the page on which it was written. Just the names of some spells already had Atem’s thoughts churning with morbid curiosity — there were incantations to bring about plagues and torture upon one’s enemies, spells offering the power to manipulate matter and energy, and invocations that seemed to imply the ability to stave off death. Every time Atem felt the instinct to flip to one of these pages, he forced himself to remember the words of Ramesses: tread carefully.

Likewise, Satiah’s patience and focus helped him to maintain his wariness of the Tome. Before they’d even begun translation efforts, she’d suggested they come up with a secret shorthand for taking written notes, so as to provide yet another obstacle to anyone seeking to steal or copy their work. As an extra precaution, she worked with Shimon to design a lockbox to hold the Tome and Codex whenever they weren’t working. The box could only be unlocked using the cartouche piece taken from the puzzle’s cover, which Atem now wore around his neck when not in use.

Atem was thankful for his wife’s thoroughness, even if it did slow down their work substantially. Like Satiah, Atem was determined not to let his urgency lead to recklessness. While danger would always be imminent with Bakura prowling the kingdom, they were still several steps ahead of the thief — but even the simplest error might cause them to stumble.

Atem took a deep breath and settled his attention back to the bottom of the wharf, where loud shouts seemed to signal the end of the loading efforts. On the last landing, the familiar figures of his court stood huddled together, bidding goodbyes to one another. Only three Guardians — Seto, Mahad, and Aknadin — would be traveling with them to Memphis, plus Satiah’s father. Meanwhile, Shimon, Shada, Karim, and Isis would stay behind to manage state affairs from Thebes. 

At the sound of footsteps, Atem turned back toward the palace courtyard, just in time to see his wife emerging from a shaded glade of trees. Satiah set her eyes on him and smiled as the sunlight embraced her, drawing to a stop at arm’s length.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” she asked.

“A little late for second thoughts, wouldn’t you say?” Atem replied, raising his eyebrows.

“I know,” Satiah said. “It’s just that things are moving so quickly now…”

Atem shook his head. “This is the right move.”

Satiah turned her attention back to the ship, her eyes veiled with uncertainty.

Slowly, Atem reached out and touched her arm, pulling her gaze back to him. “What about you, then?” he said. “All packed and ready? Not forgetting anything, are we?”

“WA—AIT!”

A high voice echoed through the courtyard, and Atem snapped his head over his shoulder to see Mana sprinting toward them, a huge satchel slung over her shoulder.

“Wait for me, Master! Please don’t leave me!”

Atem released Satiah and surged forward to catch Mana by her satchel as she rushed by. Her momentum stopped short, causing her almost to fall flat on her back. She turned, seething with anger and struggling to pull the satchel out of Atem’s grasp.

“Mana, stop—”

“No!” she cried, and as she whipped her head back and forth in frustration, Atem clearly saw tears shaking free from her face. “I want to go, too!”

“We can’t take you, Mana—”

Suddenly, Satiah swept over, wrapping her arms around Mana’s quivering shoulders. Mana protested at first, trying to pull away, but Satiah shushed the girl, squeezing her in a tight embrace. 

“It’s okay, Mana,” she whispered. A moment later, Mana’s arms grew slack, and she released the satchel to turn into Satiah.

“Please don’t leave me here all alone!” Mana sobbed into Satiah’s shoulder. “I want to go! I want to help!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Atem saw Mahad hurrying up the stairs, looking cross. Satiah saw it too — she held up her hand to stop him, then pulled back from her embrace to take Mana by the shoulders and lead her further into the garden, out of earshot of her master. Atem followed the pair with his eyes, watching as Satiah sat Mana down on a nearby bench. Mana continued to sob while Satiah soothed her in hushed tones.

A moment later, Mahad came up beside Atem, shame tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m sorry, my king,” he said. “I tried to explain things to her… But she’s just so stubborn.”

Atem laughed. “It’s fine. Her persistence will make her a great spellcaster someday.”

“One can hope,” Mahad said, sighing.

Together, they watched Mana come down from her crying fit as Satiah comforted her with soft words and light touches.

“She’s patient with her,” Mahad went on.

Atem felt a smile growing on his features. While he’d been treated to brief gleams of Satiah’s softer side over the past several weeks, she very rarely let it show in the presence of others. “Well, it helps that she doesn’t have to deal with _teaching_ Mana every day.”

Mahad let slip a rare chuckle, though he cleared his throat and straightened up again as Satiah and Mana began walking back over to them. When they arrived, Mana sniffed loudly and raised her eyes to her master, her lips pursed tight with feigned anger. She then surged forward and wrapped her arms around Mahad, squeezing all the air out of him. Awkwardly, Mahad lifted a hand and patted her shoulder until she released him a moment later to rub her watery eyes. She turned to Atem, who took her in for a brief embrace as well.

“Don’t worry, Mana,” he said, pulling away. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Mana snuffled again. “You’d better,” she muttered, moving beside Satiah again. The two women shared another wordless hug before Mana grabbed her satchel and slouched glumly back toward the palace.

“She’ll be alright,” Satiah said, watching Mana disappear into the garden. “Though I worry for Shimon — I hope he’s thought of something to occupy her while we’re gone, for the sake of his sanity.”

Atem laughed in agreement, then turned toward the wharf. “Shall we?”

Together, he, Satiah, and Mahad made their way down the stone stairs, where Metjen, Seto, and Aknadin had since made their way up the boarding platform, leaving the rest of the court waiting patiently at the bottom. Mahad and Satiah bid the four Guardians brief goodbyes before following the traveling party up to the top deck.

Shimon was already looking a bit weepy as Atem came up to bid his vizier and mentor farewell. Atem smiled and hugged him.

“Thank you for your patience and counsel these past weeks, my friend,” he said, pulling away. “I will keep your wise words with me always.”

Shimon sniffed, turned away, and rubbed his eyes.

Atem moved on and shared respectable handshakes with Karim and Shada. “Make sure to write to us often,” Karim urged.

“Indeed,” Shada agreed. “We want to hear everything there is to know about the Holy _Ka_.”

Atem nodded firmly.

Isis was last to offer her hands to him. He took them, giving them a light squeeze that brought a calm smile to her features. At this, Atem found himself already regretting not asking her to come with them. Her keen insight would be sorely missed.

“Any last words of wisdom?” he asked.

Isis’s smile grew. “Seek joy.” 

She leaned forward and placed a short kiss on his cheek, then released his hands. Feeling warm, Atem turned and hurried up to the ship, offering one last wave to his comrades before the deckhands pulled up the boarding platform behind him. A moment later, the ship lurched to life, slowly easing its way out of the wharf and into the open waters of the Nile.

Atem watched the walls of the palace growing smaller and smaller, until his home became no more than a white streak on the horizon.

  
  


At first light on the second day of their journey, Satiah emerged from below deck and filled her lungs with a steep breath of fresh air. The sun was just beginning to crest along the cliffs in an unbroken crown of gold, and as she meandered over to the side of the ship, she saw the same thin light reflected in the water below, stretching on for miles in either direction. The only sounds traveling on the steady breeze were the creak of the masts and sails, drawn taut overhead.

Satiah breathed deep of this serenity and wrapped herself in the chill of morning. As much as she’d grown to find comfort in her husband’s company in recent weeks, now it seemed that simply looking at him — even when he was deep in sleep, as he was when she’d left his side moments ago — caused her mind to whirl with thoughts of harrowing danger and sinister magic. Immersing herself in nature’s solitude helped to purge her of these unwelcome feelings, if only just a bit.

As dreaming cities and undisturbed countryside lazed by, the sun slowly began to show more of itself over the horizon, casting sharp rays across the deck and illuminating a hunched form sitting on a pile of crates near the bow of the ship. When Satiah focused closer, her heart lurched upon realizing it was Nebetah.

Satiah had almost forgotten that Tefnak’s widow had joined them on their journey, though the former princess was not bound for Memphis — Nebetah would be disembarking at Khemenu, her home city, where she would be welcomed back into the embrace of her blood family. With the death of her husband, son, and father-in-law, Nebetah had almost no ties left to bind her to the royal household. Though Atem had offered to let her live in the palace for as long as she liked, it came as no surprise to Satiah when Nebetah decided to cut the arrangement short. There were too many reminders of her lost son and husband in Thebes — chief among them being the Pharaoh himself.

Looking upon Nebetah leaning wistfully against the railing of the ship, Satiah soon found herself feeling a bit guilty. Biting it back, she glided closer, keeping her body near the railing until Nebetah caught sight of her on her own. When she did, Neb sat up straight and forced a humble smile.

“Oh — hello, my queen,” she said with a bow of her head.

Satiah wrinkled her nose. “I still haven’t gotten used to the way that sounds.”

Nebetah’s stilted smile turned to a genuine one. “To be honest, I never much cared for ‘princess’ either.”

Satiah laughed and pulled up a crate to sit beside Nebetah, then turned her head to look out over a stretch of desert that crawled slowly into view. “We should be arriving at Khemenu by midday,” she said. “You must be looking forward to seeing your family again.”

Nebetah nodded, then turned her head down to her lap. “I haven’t seen most of them since Meriti was born.”

Satiah felt her heart tumble with sorrow again.

“Some of them much longer,” Neb went on. “Most of my brothers and sisters haven’t visited since my wedding. I have nieces and nephews I haven’t even met before.”

“Sounds like you have a lot to look forward to,” Satiah said, leaning forward to catch Neb’s eyes. “It must be nice having such a big family. How many are you, in all?”

Neb grinned. “I’m the oldest of twelve.”

Satiah breathed a laugh of disbelief. “Sometimes I wonder how women do it,” she said. “How they jump into motherhood, feet first, without a second thought.”

As soon as she’d said the words, she wished she could take them back. But even as Satiah’s cheeks flushed hot with sun and fluster, Neb’s smile remained.

“After helping to raise so many of my brothers and sisters, the only thing in this world I wanted was a child of my own,” she said, turning to watch a thick, reedy marsh drifting by. “It’s powerful. That urge to open your heart — to let someone depend on you fully and completely. Even now, I’d give everything just to have one more hour with my baby.” Neb turned to face Satiah again. Though the widow’s eyes were shining, there was no pain in her voice. “But I’ve come to realize that I have room left in my heart for more than just the dead.”

Suddenly, Satiah felt her shame turn to wonder. Neb’s grace touched her deeply, all the way through her newly restored spirit, and threatened to stir up tears of her own.

“I think we all do,” Nebetah went on, and Satiah jolted when the widow reached out to rest a hand over hers on the ship’s railing. “It just takes some of us a little longer than others to see it.”

Satiah bit down on her tongue to stave off a sob, then wrapped her fingers tight around Nebetah’s. Feelings of bittersweet sorrow and guilt and awe fought each other like caged animals in her spirit, driving her to stand sharply in an attempt to beat her emotions back. “Come and find me when we arrive,” she said, wrenching her eyes away from the widow’s. “I want to say goodbye.”

As if she understood the reason for the sudden departure, Neb gave a firm nod and released Satiah’s hand, allowing her to turn and hide the tears brimming on her lashes. Swiftly, Satiah made her way to the stern of the ship and ducked below deck, squeezing down the narrow corridor to the living quarters, where she rubbed her swimming eyes and settled her nerves with a deep breath. After three months without her _ka,_ Satiah was thoroughly unprepared for such a surge of emotions. She wrapped herself in a hug as she walked, turning her head down to her chest. “Hush,” she hissed with a disapproving smirk.

But her spirit led her on, this time seeking out the company of her husband. As she passed their cabin, Satiah peeked in to see Atem was already gone, along with the lockbox that held the Tome and the Codex. Frowning, she moved on toward the galley in the center of the ship’s lower deck and peered in to see Atem sitting alone at the head of the long table, bathed in weak light coming from a slotted porthole in the wall behind. The Tome and Codex lay stretched out before him, along with a small strip of papyrus on which he was currently scribbling with an ink brush. She watched him from the shadows for a while — rapt by the way his fingers moved the brush with purpose across the page, his brow set straight with determination. 

Her curiosity must have been palpable, as he suddenly glanced up and met her gaze head-on. The look on his face first betrayed surprise, then delight.

“There you are,” he said, putting his brush down. “I missed you this morning.”

The earnest tone of his voice conjured up the same softhearted sensations she’d felt a moment ago in Nebetah’s presence. But instead of tears, a smile broke unbidden to Satiah’s face as she stepped through the shallow doorway, moving with purpose to her husband’s side. “I wanted to watch the sun rise,” she said, leaning back against the table beside him.

“And how did you find Nefertem’s shining face?” he asked, laying a hand on her thigh.

“Beautiful as ever,” she replied.

Atem smiled, running his thumb lightly over her knee. “Well, while you were sunbathing,” he teased, reaching over to pick up the strip of papyrus on the table, “I was busy making breakthroughs. Look at this.”

Satiah took up the papyrus and inspected the glyphs. “‘Invocation of Horus and his God Hand,’” she read aloud. Her eyebrows shot up. “That sounds promising.”

Atem nodded. “If I remember correctly, Horus was Menkaura’s patron.”

“You’re brilliant,” she said, then reached out to brush her fingers across his cheek.

Satiah was halfway to meeting his lips for a kiss when a loud creak came from the floorboards behind. She rose and spun, just in time to see Aknadin ducking into the galley. 

Reflexively, Satiah crumpled the papyrus and threw it into the lockbox on the center of the table. Aknadin cleared his throat, but Satiah ignored him, reaching over to snap the Tome closed and take up the Codex beside it. She tugged the cartouche key out of the Codex, causing the symbols to purge from the artifact, then placed both items in the lockbox and pulled the cover down. As she turned to hand the key back to Atem, she found his eyes wide with muted surprise.

“I’m sorry, your highnesses,” Aknadin said. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

Atem took the cartouche out of Satiah’s hand and slung it back around his neck. “It’s quite alright, Aknadin,” he said, flicking his eyes from Satiah to his priest. “Do you have news to share?”

“An update from the captain, my king,” Aknadin replied. “He says we are making good pace and should arrive in Khemenu by midday. If the winds hold, another day more will see us sailing into Memphis.”

“A swift pace indeed,” Atem said. “Thank you, Aknadin.”

Satiah found it odd when the priest remained rooted to the spot just inside the door, his one functioning eye drawn toward the lockbox on the table between him and his king. As if her impatience weren’t already apparent, Satiah crossed her arms.

Clearly feeling the discomfort in the room, Atem leaned forward, lacing his fingers together on the table before him. “Was there something else?”

Again, Aknadin cleared his throat, shifting his weight as the ship pitched slightly. “Forgive me, my king… I do not wish to speak out of turn.”

“Nonsense,” Atem said. “You may speak freely here.”

As if he’d been waiting for this invitation, Aknadin moved closer, crossing his hands behind his back and running his eyes along the lockbox again. “I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t express my _concerns_ over your approach to translating the Millennium Tome.”

Satiah flashed her eyes down to her husband, catching sight of his temple flexing as he worked his jaw. “Would you care to elaborate?” he asked flatly.

“Myself and the other guardians are worried your highness may be spreading himself too thin,” Aknadin said smoothly. Satiah did not fail to notice the priest left her name out of his mouth. “Surely it would be simpler and more efficient to share these duties with your trusted advisors — and easier on your spirit.”

“Efficiency is far less important to our cause than accuracy and accountability,” Atem replied.

Satiah was pleased to hear her husband holding his ground, but Aknadin did not seem prepared to back down either.

“Of course, Pharaoh,” he said, his tone turning obsequious. “However, we worry as well about what would become of your great work if, gods forbid, something should happen to you.” Out of the corner of her eye, Satiah saw Atem sitting up straighter at this. “Since your highness lacks an heir, the court would be left wondering who to turn to if you were to … _pass on_ , before your wife bears a son to you.”

When at last the priest acknowledged her existence, Satiah was left feeling as though he’d thrown hot oil on her skin. “And what concern is it of yours whether or not I bear a son?” she spat. “Or, for that matter, whether I have children at all?”

Both men in the room were stunned to silence by her words. Though she kept her gaze trained on the priest, Satiah could feel her husband’s eyes piercing through her from where he sat.

“Would that diminish my standing as Queen, if I should never bring a child into this world?”

Aknadin’s mouth moved up and down as he searched for an acceptable reply. “Of course not, your highness,” he stammered. “But, crude as it may be… This is what is expected of a Pharaoh’s wife.”

Her heart caught instantly aflame. “Is that so?”

“Satiah—”

“Well, what _I_ expect, Guardian Aknadin—” she took two brave steps forward, coming to within striking distance of the priest, “—is for you to do your duty and protect your king, instead of concerning yourself with what should happen if you were to fail at that task.”

Silence again. This time, Aknadin seemed unconcerned with delivering any ingratiating niceties, his features drawn tight. She stared him down for another blistering moment, then cut by him as swift as a knife.

“Satiah, wait—”

Her husband’s plea was drowned in the scrape of a chair, but within seconds Satiah was already halfway up the stairs to the top deck. She ducked behind a wall of cargo and swept along the side of the ship, until Atem finally caught up and grabbed her wrist.

“Satiah—”

She spun, tugging her hand out of his grasp. She wanted to feel guilty over the startled look he gave her, but her heart was still smoldering, turning everything around it to cinders.

“How could you let him speak to me that way?” she hissed thinly. “As if I wasn’t even in the room?”

“I’m sorry—”

“Is it because you feel the same?” Her voice grew ever more tenuous, and she realized it was because she was barely holding back tears again.

“I told you there was no hurry, and I meant it,” he said firmly. “What more can I say to make you believe me?”

“Say nothing,” she spat. “It seems to be what you’re best at.”

Suddenly, Atem swept in and took her shoulders in his hands. “No,” he said. “That’s not good enough for me.” Satiah didn’t know whether to be tempered or enraptured by his touch. “We have duties to each other that go far beyond whatever frivolous expectations others may have for us.” His stern gaze cascaded over her like the Nile rushing below them. “I will not let resentment push us apart. Not at a time when we need each other most of all.”

When a moment ago she’d been beset by the urge to flee, Satiah now found herself throwing her arms around his neck and stifling a dry sob into his shoulder. Her spirit thrashed like a lioness caught in a trap, magnifying all her anger and shame and spite. But Atem held urgently to her, reaching up to cradle her head in one hand. She both hated and loved that his embrace had the power to calm her so; hated and loved that he was right.

“I will speak with him,” he whispered. “I will speak with all of them. We shall hear no more talk of heirs and succession until after our work in Memphis is complete.”

Satiah pulled back and swiped her hands beneath her eyes, clearing them of any encroaching tears. “Thank you.”

Atem smiled empathetically and wrapped an arm around the small of her back, angling them both to look out over the blue-green water. “It has been many years since Egypt had a queen,” he remarked. “Give them time. Before long, they will see everything I see.”


	30. Haven

On the third and final day of their journey, Atem awoke yet again to an empty bed. Fighting a yawn, he leaned up and looked to the porthole across the cabin, greeted with a thin stream of light cast upward on the ceiling — barely daybreak, and Satiah was already gone. Atem knew he shouldn’t be surprised; at any moment, her home city would be rising up on the horizon. A smile came to his lips at the thought of the elation she must be feeling upon returning to her birthplace. Remembering Isis’s parting words, Atem rose and readied himself for the day, hopeful he hadn’t missed too much of his wife’s excitement already.

As he dressed, he reflected about how such joy was long overdue for Satiah. For months, she’d been run through a hellacious gauntlet of challenges, and she had so far managed to weather them with grace. But Atem was ashamed that, even with his new sovereign power, he’d been unable to shield her from many of the stigmas being thrown at her — some by his own court, no less. After her clash with Aknadin the day before, Atem had gathered his Guardians and delivered a thorough reprimand against addressing the queen in such a manner. The tongue-lashing was largely out of character for him, and featured such extreme terms as “unacceptable,” “disrespectful,” and “forbid,” but it helped smother some of his guilt to make the matter abundantly clear for the future.

When Atem left his cabin and emerged above deck, the sight of Memphis breaking with the dawn set his heart aglow with a dissonance of awe and shame. It was a wonder to see the white pylons of Sekhmet’s temple rising once more over fields of green and gold, but no amount of beauty or grace could make him forget what had happened the last time he’d set foot on this hallowed ground. His anxiety only steepened when he caught sight of a distinct glimmer on the northern horizon — the capstone of Khufu’s Great Pyramids, flashing harshly in the rising sun as if beckoning them toward it.

Thankfully, his attention was soon drawn away at the sound of his wife’s bright laughter rising over the bustle of sailors and deckhands working. Further down the ship, Satiah was leaning up against the railing, her father standing beside her with his arm thrown over her shoulder. Even from where he was standing, Atem could all but feel their cheer. They laughed together and pointed out familiar landmarks along the horizon, bright-eyed and red-cheeked.

After another moment more, Satiah caught sight of Atem lurking, and though her laughter died down a bit, her smile remained. She whispered something to her father, then ducked out of his embrace to make her way down the side of the ship. She stopped at arm’s length and leaned her hip against the railing. Atem found it impossible not to mirror her smile, despite the slight twinge of nervousness that was still tugging at the back of his mind.

“It’s hard to believe I’ve only been gone three months,” she said at last, turning her eyes west again. “So much has changed since then … and yet the city looks the same as it ever did.”

“That’s good,” Atem replied. “Right?”

Satiah grinned wider and nodded, then moved in and wrapped her hands around his forearm, leaning her head against his shoulder. In that moment, it seemed as though he were peering into the very vision Isis had foreseen — his wife a beautiful portrait of light and shadow, her smile forever painted with brushstrokes of truth.

But the longer Atem looked upon her, the deeper his shame burned. He didn’t feel he’d earned the right to take credit for delivering her back to the waiting arms of her homeland — not when it had been his kin who’d stolen her away from it in the first place.

He pulled back a bit, hiding his guilt with another smile. “Come,” he said, taking her hand. “Let us go and greet your people.”

Atem turned and led the way toward the bow of the ship, where he vaulted onto the stempost platform and turned to help Satiah up as well. The ship was already beginning to slow and turn westward as they made their way to the very edge of the deck. He and Satiah held tight to the railing to watch the hulking vessel squeeze itself into one of Memphis’ many narrow canals. As it did, Atem kept his eyes trained on the banks of the river, looking for the familiar sights and sounds of their subjects waiting to welcome their king and queen. But as the ship trundled along through the shallow waters, they were met with no such cheer from the citizens of Memphis.

Here and there along the banks, cold eyes followed the royal ship, but the people offered up neither smiles nor waves — nor did they throw offerings into the river as was customary upon the arrival of a Pharaoh. Most of them stood huddled on their doorsteps or in their windows, or otherwise kept their eyes averted, busying themselves with the day’s most mundane tasks. The sight left Atem feeling cold, but his heart sank even further upon seeing what it had done to Satiah — she looked to be on the verge of tears to see not a single citizen raising their arms in welcome to her.

Fighting his own doubt, Atem wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her in close. “It’s still early,” he said, unable to temper the pity in his voice. “Those who aren’t already in the fields are likely still sleeping.”

It was many moments before Satiah took her eyes away from the banks of the river, but she did not turn her attention to him when she did — instead, she cast her gaze over his shoulder, her face slowly growing tight with scorn. Worried, Atem looked behind, seeing none other than Aknadin leaning up against the railing nearby. Like them, the Guardian was surveying the nome — the one over which he’d ruled for the past two months. The slight smile on his lips struck Atem with a strange, uncanny sensation. Suddenly, as if he felt their gazes on him, Aknadin turned his glinting Millennium Eye toward where Atem and Satiah stood. He offered another smile and a light bow of his head before turning and disappearing into the darkness below deck.

* * *

For the sake of her husband, Satiah did everything she could to conceal her contempt upon being forced to walk beside Aknadin on their way through the Memphis streets. Here, too, the presence of the common people was thin, and though Satiah knew her imagination was stirring conspiracy, it seemed almost as if the citizens of Memphis were anxious — even _fearful_. Her mind raced wildly with thoughts of what Aknadin might have done to her beloved city and nome while she was gone.

As they rounded a bend, Satiah’s attention was immediately drawn to a familiar sprawl of buildings, nestled in along a hillside in the shadow of Sekhmet’s temple. To her relief, her family’s villa still stood, looking largely unblemished during their two-month absence.

Led on by a phalanx of the kingsguard, the royal envoy waded a shallow canal at the foot of the hill, then made their way up to the villa gates, where they were greeted by a small welcoming party of priests from the Memphis Conclave. She scanned their faces, but even in the midmorning light she barely recognized more than four or five of them among the two dozen or so in attendance. 

Upon their arrival, the priest at the front of the group — a thin, wild-eyed young man who looked barely older than Satiah — stepped forward and dropped to a full, kneeling bow before she and Atem. Satiah fought hard to purge a wincing grimace from her face before he rose back up.

“Praise be the gods above, the Pharaoh and his court have arrived at last!” the priest proclaimed. “I am Neheb, Chief Priest of the Memphis Conclave. My comrades and I are at your humble service, my king.”

Again, Satiah felt a skeptical sneer creeping onto her face. How was it possible this boy had managed to rise to Chief Priest in less than two months’ time, when Satiah had never even heard of him before? More concerning than this thought, however, was what she feared had happened to his predecessor and her former mentor, Jahar. He was clearly not present among the current attendance, and though Jahar was an elderly man now, it seemed completely out of the question that he might have fallen ill or passed away without her knowing. Her conspiratorial thoughts were once again whipped up into a frenzy, her eyes throwing wrathful heat at Aknadin where he stood mere feet away from her.

A moment later, Atem spoke and pulled her from her seething thoughts. “Thank you for the warm welcome, Neheb.”

At this, the Chief Priest bent at the waist again. “Your highness must be weary from his long travels,” he went on, continuing to gesticulate wildly with his arms, which were draped in fine white and red robes. “We have prepared the nomarch’s suite in anticipation of your arrival. If you’ll follow me…”

Neheb swept his arm out behind him, causing the sea of other priests to part and make way for the royal envoy to enter the villa courtyard beyond. The Chief Priest fell into step alongside them, directing them through the gardens to the northeast corner of the compound. Satiah looked to her father as the nomarch’s residence came into view, noting the glimmer of humbled nostalgia in his eye.

“Here we are,” Neheb announced, turning to Satiah and Atem. “Please, let us know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable.” With yet another obsequious bow, the Chief Priest excused himself to lead the rest of the court to their own accommodations further on.

Satiah kept eyes on her father until he disappeared behind a row of trees nearby. At this, she felt Atem reach out and touch her arm. He jerked his head toward the residence, and Satiah forced up a smile as she followed him over the threshold. 

Though the layout of her father’s suite was unchanged, it had been redecorated to the extreme — with excessively flourishing furniture and gaudy gold embellishments on every surface. The first floor featured a small sitting room, made smaller still by the enormous chairs and table just inside the door, plus a simple washroom tucked behind the stairs. The bedchamber made up the entirety of the second floor interior, which had been outfitted with a large bed that rivaled the size of even their own back in Thebes. A wide working table was positioned against the exterior wall, above which were windows overlooking the city and the Giza plateau beyond. It was a hazy day, so the pyramids themselves were barely more than white lines on the horizon. 

As much as Satiah wanted to feel the glow of peace to be back in her childhood home, her thoughts were still tumbling with intrigue. She crossed her arms and watched as Atem moved through the bedroom, tracing his hands along the furniture idly. He turned and offered a smile, though Satiah couldn’t bring herself to return it. A moment later, however, her nose began to tingle with the scent of food. On the other side of the room, a doorway led out onto a small terrace overlooking the courtyard below. Satiah moved over and peeked through the door, where a shaded table had been set out with an impressive spread of delectables.

Atem came up beside her and pointed to the end of the table. “Look — sweet cakes,” he said. “Seems the cooks haven’t forgotten your taste in cuisine.”

At this, Satiah finally allowed herself a small smile. 

Atem reached out to stroke her arm with the back of his hand. “Come, let’s eat,” he said, stepping out and setting to work building a plate.

Satiah hesitated, taking a deep breath. “I’m not hungry,” she said. “I think I may go arrange a visit to the necropolis.” At this, Atem stopped and looked up. “If … that’s alright with you.”

His smile fell away a bit, but he cleared his throat and nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Take as long as you need.”

Satiah stared at him for a moment, listening as a tiny voice in her mind tried to persuade her to invite him along. Eventually, she gave up and lowered her head in acknowledgement, then turned and receded down the stairs. As she walked back through the gardens, she felt a twinge of guilt that she hadn’t heeded the little voice, fearing she might be taking out some of her recent frustrations on her husband unintentionally. But the longer she considered it, the more she realized he likely wouldn’t have accepted even if she’d asked. Although time and patience had made them much more open and honest with one another, it was clear they both still had a few wounds better left unshown.

Suddenly, she found her thoughts sidetracked again by the hushed sound of her father’s voice nearby. She stopped and craned her neck around a tree trunk, seeing him standing beneath the veranda on the perimeter of the courtyard, speaking to a shaded figure. As she moved closer, she realized it was Priestess Mayet — one of the few familiar faces who’d been amongst the welcoming party. Mayet caught sight of Satiah, and almost immediately the priestess straightened up with a nervousness that seemed very uncharacteristic of her. Satiah’s father looked over as well, then turned back to Mayet and said another few words before excusing himself. 

Mayet hurried into the shadows while Metjen made his way toward Satiah.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

Her father shifted his eyes back and forth, then took Satiah by the arm and led her deeper into the gardens. “I wanted to get the _unbiased_ story on the state of affairs here,” he muttered, his gaze still sweeping the area until he found a sufficiently quiet spot to stop. “Mayet tells me those who remained loyal to our family have since been ‘purged’ of their positions within the Conclave.”

Satiah’s eyes went wide.

“Their words, not mine,” her father went on. “Apparently, Jahar didn’t take very well to some of the changes Aknadin wanted to implement. While Aknadin was down in Thebes for your wedding, Jahar tried to take back control of the Conclave. He only managed to get about a third of the priests on board before Aknadin returned, and… Well, you can imagine what happened next.”

“Gods,” Satiah hissed. “Where are Jahar and the others now?”

“They were forced to flee up to Natria,” her father explained. “Aknadin didn’t follow them, but he declared a citywide decree that anyone found conspiring against him would be punished with fifty lashes.”

Satiah exhaled sharply — the citizens’ earlier trepidation was now starting to make much more sense. “Has Mayet had any contact with the others?”

Her father shook his head. “It seems the conflict was brought to a standstill after the death of the king,” he explained. “Those who remained saw it best to let things lie for now, rather than risk Aknadin’s wrath.”

Satiah gritted her teeth. “I should speak with Atem about this.” She started to turn away, but her father caught her arm.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” he said.

Satiah screwed up her face. “I suppose you’d prefer to be accused of treason once again?”

Her father looked thoroughly conflicted, but he took a deep breath to settle himself. “We both know the Pharaoh will never agree to pardon the traitors,” he said.

“What makes you so certain?”

Metjen scoffed. “If there’s one thing I _do_ know about the boy, it’s that he is his father’s son.”

Satiah felt her stomach roiling with doubt. 

“Listen to me, Sati,” her father continued, holding tight to both of her shoulders. “I’m not ready to give up on Jahar and the others just yet — but I’m worried more about you than anything else. To have you advocating for a traitor will only play further into Aknadin’s hands.”

Satiah looked down, considering the words. It was true, Aknadin had been belligerent toward her family since the moment her father had fallen to the sands just up the hill at the temple of Sekhmet. She’d been hopeful that her ascension to queenhood would temper the tensions, but if their clash the day before was any indication, Aknadin didn’t seem ready to back down in the least.

“I have an idea.”

Satiah turned up to see a surreptitious glint in her father’s eye.

“If Jahar only rebelled out of loyalty to our family, then there’s a chance that, if I can somehow arrange a meeting with him … I may be able to convince him to surrender.”

Satiah cocked her head. “That’s an enormous risk, Father.”

“It’s worth it if I can keep you from getting wrapped up in this mess,” he said.

“A little late for that now, don’t you think?”

Her father smiled. “I promise, this is the last you’ll hear about it,” he said. “From here on out, I’ll take care of everything.”

Satiah sighed. “That’s exactly what has me worried.”

* * *

By the time Satiah and her father set out on the nearly hour-long journey to the necropolis, the sun was already past its peak in the sky. They rode single file through the backstreets of Memphis and past the towering temple of Sekhmet at the foot of the western mountains. Though they were escorted by a small company of priests, their faces were largely concealed by the headscarves they wore, and it lifted Satiah’s spirits a bit to see the commoners no longer shrinking away into the shadows as they passed. Back before the rebellion, Satiah’s family had been so closely tied to their people that they often moved through the streets and attended the market without an escort at all. Satiah doubted she’d ever get to experience such carefree liberty again.

Soon, they splashed through a narrow stream marking the city limits, and Satiah cherished the brief respite offered by the cool water sprinkling across her legs. The afternoon heat rippled off the mountainside above them, turning the towering step pyramid of Djoser into a melting mirage of ruddy limestone. As they wound their way up the well-worn trail, Satiah found her eyes drifting to her father. It was hard to see what he was feeling through his linen scarf, but there was a distinct emptiness in his eyes that told Satiah all she needed to know. The last time he’d made this journey, it had been to entomb his only son.

Satiah was immediately transported back to that day, when the wounds of her loss were still deep and fresh. She remembered starkly how everything had seemed so dire then — how she could barely imagine living without her brother, let alone facing a lifetime of uncertainty without his love and support. The weeks after had passed in a blur of pain and grief — hopes dashed, lives lost, futures stolen. But looking back on it now, Satiah was surprised to find a ray of peace shining through those dark memories — that of her husband, and his unyielding patience and resilience. It kindled pride within her to remember how much they had both had changed since the moment of her first meeting. From fragile strangers, forced together by the whims of fate, to sturdy partners, forged in the fires of adversity.

It felt odd for Satiah to be wearing a smile as she rode into the shadow of the necropolis, where the souls of her departed family slumbered. A quiet shame pulled the corners of her lips downward as she halted her horse and unraveled the scarf from around her face. Her father did the same, then dismounted and took up his satchel of offerings slung across his horse’s withers. As Satiah followed him into the mouth of the necropolis, she found herself wondering how Metka must have felt, to watch his sister being united with the family who had taken his life. She wanted to believe he’d have been happy for her — even proud, to know she had helped guide her husband toward a more righteous path. But she knew this was just a selfish justification — any easy one to make when Metka’s spirit was no longer able to speak for itself.

Guilt pricked her skin as she followed her father to the back of the antechamber, where a statue of Anubis sat with unlit candles and withering offerings around its feet. Metjen took a moment to sweep away the dead flowers and light a few of the candles before laying a fresh offering of bread and wine at the base of the statue. They then knelt, whispered quiet prayers, and stood to make their way into the tunnel leading to the tombs of their kin. 

They walked the lonely corridor, candles in hand, pausing briefly outside of every relative’s tomb to light a fresh reed of incense. Her father came to a full stop only when they passed by the chamber belonging to his wife. Even in the dark, Satiah could feel her father’s sorrow, radiating from him like a dying fire. A moment later, he gathered himself and entered. Satiah stayed just inside the door, watching him lighting candles all around the foot of his departed wife’s sarcophagus, where he then knelt and lowered his head in silent prayer. Feeling he deserved some privacy, Satiah continued on, stopping on the threshold of her brother’s tomb.

Bracing herself with a deep breath, she stepped inside, letting her eyes trace along the walls lined with old offerings and her brother’s earthly belongings: a chair that had once been in his bedchamber, a set of goblets and a carafe of wine, a senet board he’d been given as a gift. At the foot of his sarcophagus, she kneeled and lit a handful of half-burnt candles, leaving her fresh one in the middle of the altar.

Slowly, the chamber began to fill with light, drawing the stark profile of his sarcophagus on the wall behind. As she rose up, Satiah’s eyes fell to the center of the coffin lid, where the stone likeness of Metka had its arms crossed tightly over its chest. She gasped and covered her mouth at a startling sight: there, pinned directly over Metka’s heart by the blade of an iron dagger, was a single lotus blossom.

Fear strangled her lungs, forcing all the air out in a trembling rush. She staggered backward, trying to escape this omen — no, this _threat._ Her vision bled with tears, and as she turned into the darkness, she felt herself colliding with something soft. Stifling a soft cry, she looked up to meet her father’s worried eyes. He gripped her arms, but said nothing, even as he trailed his gaze over her shoulder. Slowly, his face twisted with the same sickening venom that coursed through her veins.

Feeling wicked wrath reaching for her, Satiah tore herself out of her father’s grasp and ducked out of the tomb, winding her way back through darkness until she breached the light once more.

* * *

Atem let slip a heavy sigh and finally allowed himself to look up from his work, only to be greeted by the looming shadows of the pyramids, growing long in light of the sinking sun. He’d started the afternoon attempting to transcribe some of the text within the Tome, but without Satiah’s presence, he found himself too tempted by the call of its tainted pages. Instead, he’d turned his attention to a variety of other correspondence which had followed him from Thebes — grain shipment approvals and new construction permits — distractions, more than anything, from their true purpose here in Memphis.

In his solitude, Atem found himself longing for a distraction even from these distractions. Back at the capital, he and Satiah would often go an entire day without speaking, only to come together in the evening as if they’d been apart only a fleeting moment. But now, in this unfamiliar place filled with unfriendly shadows, he was left feeling lonelier than ever.

As he stared at the south-facing plane of Khufu’s pyramid, he wondered what Satiah was feeling, to visit the tombs of her kin again after two long months away. He didn’t blame her for wanting to pay respects to her past, but it also worried him — to think what picking at those wounds might mean for her. Would she let bitterness grow in her spirit, to be constantly reminded of the life she’d been forced to abandon? Would she grow to resent him again, for unwittingly being at the heart of all that pain?

As these thoughts smoldered in his mind, Atem almost didn’t notice the sound of the door to the residence opening. Reflexively, he spun in his seat toward the dark stairs across the room, just in time to see Satiah cresting them. Even just from the first brief glance, he could tell something was wrong. Her eyes were red and empty, her face somehow flushed and pallid at the same time. Her posture was at first rigid, but after a moment of gazing at each other from across the room, she began to wilt like a dying flower. She squeezed her eyes closed, her lips pinching down and splitting in a grimace, her chest hitching with a silent sob. 

Atem found himself frozen momentarily, until she began slowly drifting in his direction. At this, he pushed his chair back and reached out, helping to support her as she lowered herself into his lap. There, she curled against him, tucking her cheek onto his shoulder and linking her arms loosely around his neck. She said nothing, her silence broken only by short, quivering breaths. Even her tears were quiet — though he felt each one, sliding down to wet the front of his tunic and dampen his palm as he cradled her cheek.

At first, he thought these sensations might sharpen his guilt, but he found his heart glowing instead with a peculiar, bittersweet relief. It warmed him to the core to know she had chosen him to be her haven, even with all the comforts of home surrounding her.

Gratefully, he stroked her hair, pressed a warm kiss into her temple, and held her until the last of her tears had fallen.


	31. Strong

No matter how far he roamed from the capital, it seemed Atem’s kingly duties were destined to follow. Before the sun even rose on his second day in Memphis, he’d been roused and summoned to the temple of Sekhmet to preside over an impromptu court session. Apparently, Aknadin’s rather intermittent presence over the past two months had led to a backlog of unfinished tasks and problems that needed solving. 

Atem and his Guardians spent most of the morning negotiating with an envoy from a neighboring nome, whose nomarch was asking for funding to build a new irrigation system ahead of the upcoming  _ peret _ season. Simple as the solution seemed, Atem found himself a bit lost when it came to the dull and tedious topic of accounting, especially without Shimon’s keen eye to guide him. It was nearing noon by the time an agreement was struck, and Atem breathed a sigh of relief as the nomarch and his envoy finally left the court hall.

Fearing even the slightest idleness would give rise to another problem, Atem quickly rose and made for the exit as well, stopping to address his Guardians on the way. “Would any of you happen to know where I could find the queen?” he asked them.

Mahad gestured lightly. “I believe she was last seen in the temple pavilion, your highness.”

Atem gave an abashed smile — though he was completely unfamiliar with the layout of Memphis’ largest temple complex, Satiah likely knew it like the back of her hand. “Right,” he said, “and where exactly is that?”

“I believe it’s off the northwest wing of the grounds, my king,” Aknadin explained. “Would you like me to take you there?”

Atem waved him off. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. Please see that we aren’t disturbed until the afternoon.”

All three Guardians bowed their understanding, after which Atem set off in search of his wife. He knew from the position of the sun that he was heading in vaguely the right direction, but after walking for what felt like five straight minutes, he seemed no closer to finding anything which resembled a pavilion. Finally, when he was sure he’d passed the same statue for a third time, Atem stopped and looked around for a worker or servant who might be able to help him. He spied a woman bent over weeding a nearby garden bed, and with a clear of his throat, he moved in her direction.

“Excuse me,” he started, “would you be so kind as to show me to—”

The woman straightened and turned, and Atem’s heart nearly stopped at the sight: Ibi was standing before him, her sandy eyes flown wide. She gasped and dropped her gardening tools, her hands snapping up to cover her mouth.

“Atem,” she hissed.

Immediately, he cast his eyes around the narrow open-air pathway in which they stood. Thankfully, there were no priests or guards within earshot, though another group of servants was working on a garden bed further down the path. Ibi must have sensed their prying eyes, as she quickly stooped into a low bow, which seemed banal enough a motion for the servants to return to their duties.

“My Pharaoh,” Ibi said loudly, her head still angled low. “How can I be of service to you?”

Atem cleared his throat again. “Could I trouble you to show me to the temple pavilion?”

Ibi straightened, her cheeks looking unusually pallid. “Of course, my king.” She motioned with her hand, then led the way through a nearby gate. Atem kept close to her, his heart thumping loudly in his ears as they turned a corner into a covered corridor. A few steps in, Atem looked over his shoulder. Once satisfied they were alone, he addressed Ibi in a whisper.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Akhetaten.”

Ibi slowed her pace at this, shooting him a hesitating look. “A short-lived arrangement, I’m afraid,” she said. “The master of my house there was well-known for asking his female servants to work ... _ after hours _ . I didn’t much care for that — so I left.”

Atem felt a lash of guilt in his stomach. “That’s awful.”

“All for the best, I suppose,” she said quickly. “I’ve been working as a handmaiden to the wife of a local priest for the past month. It’s been quite nice, really. Although the pay’s not great.” She forced a small smile, which Atem returned. “Anyway, once the Conclave heard you were coming to town, they put out a call for extra help at the temple. So, here I am.”

Atem hummed a laugh. “What are the chances?”

“Indeed.”

A thousand questions were poised on Atem’s tongue, but he held them back, seeing in her stiff posture that she was searching for words of her own. 

“I was very saddened to hear about your brother and his family,” she finally said. “They were always kind to me.”

Atem acknowledged her sympathy with a low sound.

“Your father as well,” Ibi went on. “He … He was a good king.”

Suddenly, Atem reached out and touched her shoulder, causing her to stop and turn to him with a startled look in her eye. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “For … everything that’s happened.”

Ibi tilted her head, her face beset with almost the exact same look of pity she’d given him on the day she left.

“Why should you be?” she said, reaching out to smooth the collar of his cloak. “Look at you now. God among men. Ruler of all Egypt. With an adoring queen by your side.”

Ibi looked over her shoulder, and Atem followed her gaze through a pair of columns nearby. There, he glimpsed his wife sitting at a wide table beneath a canopy of multicolored linens, the Codex in one hand, the Tome at her other. Her face was twisted up with concentration, and Atem felt himself smiling reflexively at the sight.

“She’s  _ much _ more beautiful than you described,” Ibi whispered with a smirk.

Atem let slip an unexpected laugh as he recalled the last time he’d spoken with Ibi about his then-future wife. “Stronger too,” he said.

At this, Ibi turned back to him, though it took her a long time to meet his gaze. “Do you love her?”

Atem felt a lump forming in his throat as he looked into her doe eyes. It had only been two months since they’d last breathed the same air, and yet it somehow felt like a thousand years had passed. He remembered warmly all the things he’d felt with her then — passion and thrill and the utter effervescence of youthful infatuation. But the memories were dim now — washed and faded in the relentless tide of reality.

“I think so,” Atem said at last. He let his gaze drift over to Satiah, watching the rainbow of filtered light play across her features. “Or at least, I’m learning to.”

When Atem looked back to Ibi, he was pleasantly surprised to see her smiling. “She will give you many healthy sons.”

Atem concealed his embarrassment with a huffed laugh. “Perhaps.”

For some reason, being near Ibi again made him want to confess all his fears and uncertainties about fatherhood. After so much time spent staring down the daunting task before him, Atem had come to realize that there was a very real possibility he might die without an heir. The thought troubled him deeply — not for the sake of any antiquated system of succession, but rather because leaving his wife childless would mean throwing her to the wolves of ambition. Atem knew in his heart Satiah was more than capable of leading the nation, but there were still many in the kingdom who would balk at the idea of a female Pharaoh, and her family’s troubled history with the crown would likely only make matters worse for her.

These thoughts soon had his eyes drifting over to the pavilion again, and this time, Satiah was looking back. She seemed bemused for a moment, then offered an encouraging smile. Clearing his throat, Atem glanced at Ibi. “It was wonderful to see you again,” he said, trying not to let himself be caught in the sandstorm of her eyes. “I wish you all the best.”

Knowing the queen’s gaze was on her, Ibi bent into a steep bow. “And to you — my king.”

She turned to leave, and it took everything in him not to watch her walking all the way down the veranda. Instead, Atem faced his wife again and swept out onto the shady pavilion, matching her curious smile with his own.

“Who was that?” she pried, leaning back in her chair a bit.

Atem took a deep breath to steady the flutter in his heart. “My guide,” he said carefully. It was only half a lie, but it still felt wrong to speak it. “Tell me, did you choose the most remote place in the temple by chance, or were you deliberately trying to fluster me?”

Satiah’s smile turned to a wry smirk. “The latter, of course.”

Atem moved to stand over where she sat, lifting a finger to tuck her hair behind her ear. “You succeeded.”

Satiah clicked her tongue, pivoting away to reach across the table instead. “Well then let me ease your troubled mind,” she said, taking up a scrap of papyrus and holding it out to him. “Our first completed spell.”

Atem felt a tumble in his stomach as he accepted the page, his eyes tracing wildly over the glyphs she’d painted out. It took him a moment to translate her ragged shorthand into coherent phrases, and when he did, he could barely hear his thoughts over the thrumming of his heart:

_ ‘Brave Horus, god of sky and strife — in your Hand, you wield the blade of righteous victory. Reveal your weapon to us, so that we may use it to strike down the enemies of your people.’ _

He cast her an anxious look. “And you’re sure this is correct?”

She nodded firmly. “The preface says to speak the words over Menkaura’s sarcophagus at midnight after the new moon.”

“That’s the day after tomorrow,” he said urgently.

Satiah nodded again.

Atem carefully placed the papyrus back on the table, then cast his eyes over to the edge of the pavilion. One of the draped linens flew back, revealing a brief glimpse of the Giza plateau. At this angle, Menkaura’s pyramid was the only one not visible.

“We should speak with the Guardians,” he said, straightening.

Suddenly, Satiah wrapped a hand around his wrist. He looked down, seeing an unusual disquiet in her eyes. “There’s something I want to ask you before we do,” she said.

Shifting to hold her hand, Atem lowered himself into the chair beside her. “What is it?”

Her brow drew tight as she found his eyes. “I know you’ve been adamant to take up these duties on your own, and I thank you for letting me help at all, but…” She paused and squeezed his hand. “I beg you, Atem. Please don’t do this alone. Let me be the one to go down into the pyramid with you.”

With a heavy sigh, Atem leaned back in his chair and let his gaze drift away. Knowing Satiah as he did, he felt as though he should have seen this coming. But the sudden reappearance of Ibi had left his mind clouded with cautious and tender notions… Notions of love.

When he looked back at his wife, he was surprised to see her eyes had turned round and shining. “I promise I’ll be of use,” she pleaded, in a voice that was not quite her own. “Now that I have my spirit—”

“Sati…” The diminutive felt true on his tongue, even though it seemed to take both of them by surprise when he spoke it. Clearing his throat, Atem gripped her hand again. “There is no one I would rather have by my side as we face the gods,” he said, causing relief to flicker on her face. “But… This is not your burden to bear.”

At this, she pulled her hand away. “That nonsense again—?” She stopped herself quickly, her jaw clenching tight. “Atem… If I cannot help shoulder your burdens, then what am I to make of my own purpose? What am I to make of…” She trailed off, and Atem felt guiltful needles prickling along his skin. “Of  _ us?” _

Stricken, he rose up from his chair and brushed by Satiah, striding toward the edge of the pavilion. He felt her gaze following him, as fiery as the sun that strained through the loose weave of the linens overhead. A moment later, her chair scraped back, and she drew toward him with careful, measured steps. But she stopped and waited patiently, smoldering in silence while he traced his eyes along the stark lines of Khufu’s pyramids. 

“I once swore that you would never again have your choices made for you,” he said, half-turning to her. Even with the distance she’d left between them, he could feel her eager radiance. “If this is truly what you want … then I cannot deny you. We shall make this journey together.”

Her lips tugged upward with triumph. “Thank you,” she breathed. “You won’t regret it.”

Atem held his hand out to her, and when she took it, he felt as if he'd given her the weight of the world.

* * *

As dusk settled down on the eve of their first descent into the pyramids, Satiah found herself searching for her father. For a newcomer to the sprawling villa complex, this would have been no easy task — but after two decades roaming the rows and alleys, Satiah had learned all of his favorite haunts. He was not in the archive or the study, however, and she knew he would not be welcome in the training grounds any longer, so she returned to the courtyard and turned her eyes to the sky. There, she spotted a puff of white smoke rising over the watchtower in the center of the complex. 

Satiah swept over to the base of the tower and looked up with her hands on her hips, catching another billow of smoke traveling on the breeze overhead. With a sigh, she mounted the spiraling stairs and wound her way upward. At the top, beneath the shallow roof of the structure, two guards lay sprawled with their backs to one another — out cold. Rolling her eyes, Satiah moved to one of the roof’s supports, where a short ladder led the way further up.

She cleared her throat loudly. Another puff of smoke drifted over the side of the roof, followed soon after by her father’s grinning face.

“Oh — hello Sati,” he said, drawing on his pipe again. “Nice of you to join me.”

Satiah bit on her lip to keep from smiling, then took hold of the ladder and crawled up to the roof. There, her father settled back on a mound of linens and pillows against the far edge, still puffing away on his pipe.

“What on earth are you doing?” Satiah chided.

“What does it look like?” he replied. Then, holding out the pipe, he said, “Care for a drag?”

“Absolutely not!” she hissed, still fighting a smile. “Put that silly thing out and go fix whatever you did to those guards.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s just a simple sleeping spell. They’ll wake up in an hour feeling as good as they ever have.”

Satiah scoffed, but her father ignored her. 

“Come now,” he said. “I’ve been saving these lotus petals for almost a decade. You wouldn’t want them to go to waste now, would you?”

He grinned and patted the empty space beside him. Heaving a deep sigh, Satiah resigned herself to her fate and reclined against the pillows, still feigning disappointment. But her father didn’t buy it for a moment. He slung his arm around her shoulder and held the pipe in her direction. Reluctantly, Satiah accepted it and took a shallow drag, exhaling the fragrant smoke onto the breeze.

“Now there’s something you don’t see every day,” her father said. “The queen of Egypt, partaking in such shameless indulgences. What would your royal husband think if he could see you now?”

Satiah shot him a look and handed the pipe back. “Hush.”

“Yes, m’queen,” he quipped, puffing again. With a chuckle, he cast his eyes out over the western ridge beyond. Satiah, too, let her gaze trace along the jagged range, set aglow with a crown of gold as Ra relinquished his duties to Nut for the evening. Here and there, the darkening horizon was broken with sharp protrusions — the step pyramid of Djoser to the north, the bent pyramid of Sneferu to the south. 

Somewhere between the two, Jahar and his followers lay huddled in the city of Natria, a settlement whose sole purpose was to mine natron, a special salt used in the embalming process. The natron miners were hardy folk, and after many generations of prosperity under her father’s nomarchy, they would likely be easily swayed to Jahar’s cause. Satiah wondered if perhaps they were the reason Aknadin hadn’t launched a full-scale onslaught to root out the traitors — the natron miners could very easily strike back by refusing to work, and to disrupt the flow of natron in the region was to doom all of Ineb-Hedj to a plague of rotting bodies for the foreseeable future.

“Have you thought about how you’ll approach the situation with Jahar?” Satiah asked. She kept her voice low, even though she knew the guards below would hear nothing in their deep trance.

“I have,” her father said, handing the pipe back. “But I swore to keep you out of it. And a promise is a promise, I’m afraid.”

Satiah cocked a brow, then took a drag. “How nice of you to start keeping promises,” she said, exhaling. She was surprised to find him looking a bit ashamed when she handed him the pipe again. He took it, removing his arm from around her shoulder.

“I admit, I wasn’t always the best father to you,” he said. “I was tough on you. On both of you.”

Satiah nodded lightly. “But you made us strong.”

He forced a smile, reaching out to brush her cheek with his thumb. “Of that, there is no doubt.”

Satiah took his hand and lowered it to her lap “Father, there’s something I have to tell you.” When she looked back up, her father already had a knowing glint in his eye.

“You’re going with him, aren’t you?”

Satiah was too stunned to reply — she released his hand and let her eyes flick back and forth across the wizened lines of his face, trying to find some way to soften this revelation.

But he simply exhaled a long wisp of smoke and let his gaze drift back to the sky. The last tinge of red had since turned a deep indigo. “As I suspected,” he said. Then, with a huff, he added, “The Guardians won’t like that one bit.”

Surprised again, Satiah found her lips turning up with a smile. “No, I suppose they won’t.”

Her father sniffed loudly, then turned the pipe over to empty the ash on the ground. Smothering the last of the embers with his thumb, he returned the pipe to the pocket of his robe and dropped a hand heavy to Satiah’s knee. He looked hard at her, his dark eyes squinted with a reserved smile. “No matter what happens, my dear,” he said, “know that I am proud of you.”

Satiah snaked her hands around his arm and pulled herself in against his shoulder. “And I, you, Father.”

Together, they watched the stars reveal themselves along the canopy of the sky, framing the last sliver of the moon with glimmering light.

* * *

**AN:** Nothing like gettin’ high with your dad, amirite? XD This scene was a little self-indulgent, but I love using Satiah’s relationship with her father to lighten a heavy mood. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it too! Looking forward to seeing you again in the next chapter :)


	32. Tamed

Even in the dead of night, the road to Giza was uncomfortably warm.

Though Atem had wanted to ride at the head of the column, to give himself the benefit of a headwind, Mahad and Seto insisted on being the lead riders. As was tradition, Atem and Satiah rode in the middle of the convoy, tailed closely by two lesser priests of the Memphis Conclave, whose horses were drawing an enormous stone tablet. With any luck, the slab would bear the  _ ka _ of Horus by morning. 

The column was also flanked by two lines of footsoldiers, and the effort of their movement, together with the lingering heat of the sand, turned the air around the convoy thick and humid. While they navigated the miles of dunes between them and their destination, Atem felt his thoughts weighing as heavy as the air. He wanted to be comforted by the presence of his wife beside him — Satiah herself looked ready to take on half the world with her warrior’s attire and determined stare. Still, Atem couldn’t help but feel anxious at the thought of asking her to jump feet-first into danger with him. 

His doubts were only multiplied by the resistance of his court. When he’d told them of his intention to take Satiah with him into the pyramids, Atem thought Aknadin’s Millennium Eye might pop out of his skull. Indeed, if Atem hadn’t already castigated his Guardians for speaking against the queen, it was likely Aknadin wouldn’t have been able to hold his tongue. Mahad and Seto, too, seemed skeptical of the plan, which required them to sit idle on the surface while their Pharaoh descended into an ancient tomb to face a power unseen for centuries.

Hours later, Mahad and Seto were still wearing their uncertainties plain as day in their postures, though Atem wondered if it had more to do with their relationship to each other than anything else. It seemed ever since they met, the two priests bore an unspoken rivalry between them. In court sessions, they contradicted one another no matter the topic, and in sparring matches they often targeted each other before any other opponent. Even now, Atem could hear them bickering over which star to use to gauge the time, and listening to their hushed banter brought an unexpected smile to his lips.

Soon, the convoy crested a huge dune, bringing them up to eye-level with the base of Menkaura’s pyramid. Even though it was the smallest of the three Great Pyramids, Menkaura’s tomb was no less imposing than his father’s and grandfather’s, and it somehow seemed even larger than the last time Atem had stood in its shadow, some ten years earlier.

After a brief pause to survey the landscape, the convoy continued onward, following a trail northeast to avoid a known bandit hideout in the mastabas. They were able to move much faster on the packed sand, and soon they descended into a small depression against the north face of the pyramid, where its base was split with a large, craggy opening. Here, the convoy came to a halt, with the footsoldiers forming a neat circle to corral the horses while Atem and the priests dismounted. Atem felt his eyes drawn upward, and even in the quiet light of the stars, the pyramidion atop Menkaura’s tomb scintillated brightly.

Just then, he felt a presence behind him, and he knew even without looking that Satiah was about to lay a hand on his shoulder. At her touch, he finally turned.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Atem barely heard her over the pounding of his heart, but he nodded all the same and moved to stand before the void at the foot of the pyramid. While he stared into the whistling shaft, he heard the rush of fire and footsteps at his back, and he turned to see Seto and Mahad offering lit torches as they approached. Atem and Satiah each took one; the light revealed looks of worry on both Mahad’s and Seto’s faces.

“My Pharaoh, my queen,” Mahad said, raising a hand to cover his heart. “I must beg you once more — let me accompany you into this chamber.”

“We are your sworn protectors,” Seto agreed. “It goes against our very nature to let you stride so willingly into harm’s way.”

“Thank you, my friends,” Atem said, trying his best to limit the waver in his voice. “But this is the way it must be.” He glanced briefly to Satiah, surprised to find her looking somewhat touched.

“I promise we will return,” she declared. “And when we do, your king and country will be stronger for it.”

Seto and Mahad lowered their heads in deference to their queen.

“Seto,” Atem said, summoning the priest’s eyes up again. “I know not what form the Holy  _ Ka _ will take, should we be deemed worthy to receive it. You must be ready to capture it at any moment.”

Seto nodded firmly, gripping his Millennium Rod close to his chest.

At this, Atem turned to his wife once more. For a long moment, he stared at her, tethering himself to the light in her eyes before finally allowing himself to be embraced by the darkness below.

They crept in silence along quiet corridors and chambers — a path Atem had all but memorized from studying plans left by the tomb builders, but which seemed much closer and narrower now that he was in them. The air, too, grew ever denser as they descended, until finally, they rounded a bend to the precipice of Menkaura’s burial chamber.

The room itself was small and unadorned — as was tradition, the Pharaoh’s tomb had its own separate chambers dedicated to storing his worldly possessions for use in the afterlife. All that stood before them now was Menkaura’s lonely sarcophagus — close to the sidewall and slightly askew from the middle of the room.

Centering himself with a deep breath, Atem stepped over the threshold and came to stand over his predecessor’s sarcophagus — heavy, gray, and etched with all the great legends of his time. Satiah soon joined him, sliding her torch into a rusted sconce on the wall above to help light the thick stone. As she stepped back, she continued looking straight at Atem, her brow set low with conviction. 

After bending to lay his own torch on the ground beside him, Atem returned his eyes to the top of the sarcophagus. He held his palms upward and opened his mouth to utter the spell that had been ingrained in his very mind and heart since he first read it. But for a long time, it seemed as though the words were escaping him. Satiah must have felt it too — she lifted a hand and placed it again on his shoulder, squeezing tightly and sending her strength into his soul.

“‘Brave Horus,’” he began, “‘god of sky and strife — in your Hand, you wield the blade of righteous victory. Reveal your weapon to us, so that we may use it to strike down the enemies of your people.’”

His words echoed hollow in the close chamber, and only silence dared to follow.

Then suddenly — light.

Blinding. Warm. Familiar, yet ancient. Quiet — almost deafeningly so. 

The floor beneath his feet fell away, and then came a rush of air from below, hot like fire and filled with the grit of sand. 

Even as he tumbled through flashing light and warmth, Atem thought only of Satiah. He reached for her — tried to scream for her, but the heat swallowed his voice, sending scorched air and sand scratching down his throat like freshly forged nails. 

In the midst of a strangled breath, his body made contact with something firm, but forgiving. Thankfully, he landed shoulder-first, and though the impact knocked the wind out of him, he was able to quickly scramble to his feet, taking in his surroundings. He was standing between two windblown dunes, with the night sky overhead choked by dark thunderheads. Flashes of white streaked from cloud to cloud, followed soon after by low, angry rumbles.

Still coughing wet grit from his lungs, Atem stumbled up one of the dunes, greeted with a broken landscape: Rows of mudbrick buildings lined a street overrun with sand, and the path snaked upward through even more half-crumbled structures toward the darkened horizon in the distance. Suddenly, a flash of light illuminated a familiar shape where the land met the sky — two pylons, standing like mountains against the thrashing storm.

He was about to call out for Satiah when the muffled sound of coughing reached his ears. He turned to see his wife emerging from an alley between two buildings, beating her hand against her chest and stumbling toward him. He raced to meet her, reaching out to support her as she cleared her airways enough to speak.

“Where are we?” she heaved.

Atem looked over his shoulder. “I think we’re in Thebes,” he said, pointing to the horizon, where the deep blue glow of heavy clouds continued to gather. The flashes grew more frequent and concentrated above the pylons there, revealing the familiar walls of the royal palace — behind which appeared to be the source of this anomalous storm.

Atem looked back at Satiah, and suddenly her eyes grew wide. “Listen!” she gasped.

Between more rolls of thunder, Atem heard it — high, thin clashes, like metal against metal, all drenched in sounds of pain and struggle. Cautiously, and with Satiah in tow, Atem pursued the noise further up the street, stopping where a large building marked a bend in the path. He pressed his back up against the wall and maneuvered himself to the edge so he could peer around the corner unseen. Squinting through the dark, he was greeted with a chaotic scene: dozens of footsoldiers were clashing together in an all-out brawl, swinging hulking swords and long spears and painting the sand red with their strife. 

In the mayhem, Atem could barely distinguish the belligerents of this battle. One side — the one that appeared to be winning — bore shades of red on their armor, with the other favoring blue. But as Atem looked closer, it seemed the soldiers themselves were barely men at all — beneath their bronze helmets were only blackened shadows, with two piercing white lights shining out where their eyes should have been. 

Suddenly, one of the red-clad spectres cut down its opponent, allowing Atem to glimpse the shield it held: a flash of lightning overhead clearly illuminated the cartouche of Amenhotep emblazoned upon the shaped bronze. His heart hammering with fear, Atem looked down at the spectre’s conquered adversary — and even drenched in blood, Atem instantly recognized the symbol of Ramesses the Great painted on the soldier’s armor.

“Atem!”

Satiah’s voice cut clear over the sounds of the battle, and Atem turned to see more red-clad warriors emerging from an alleyway behind them. Unfortunately, Satiah’s exclamation seemed to have alerted the soldiers further up the street as well, who were now subduing the last of Ramesses’ men. Panicked, Atem backed up into his wife and began turning in a circle, looking for some way to escape the encroaching apparitions.

“What are these things?” Satiah hissed, pressing her shoulders up against his.

“I don’t know,” Atem replied. “They look almost like ghosts… Projections of memory, perhaps — from the battle between Amenhotep and Ramesses.”

Before long, they were surrounded, and the groans of Amenhotep’s undead minions grew as deep and menacing as the thunder overhead. Satiah huffed her frustration, and Atem continued to sweep his eyes around the clearing, but it seemed no matter which way he faced, only the looming shadow of the palace filled his vision.

Just then, a flash caught his eye — one of the soldiers had lunged toward Satiah, who was already lifting her hand to the sky by the time the spectre took two steps. Instantly, a sharp streak of magic struck the sand, sending the soldier tumbling backward into his comrades. Atem was relieved to see the Shieldmaiden materializing before his wife, her shield drawn up high and her spear tucked low.

Amenhotep’s soldiers let out rippling cries of anger. While the line of spectres before him began moving in unison, Atem raised his own hand above his head. “Black Luster Soldier, heed my call!”

His vision was blinded temporarily by another warm pillar of light, from which the fabled Black Luster Soldier soon emerged. Nearly two stories tall and armed with a hulking blade, Atem was confident the Soldier would make quick work of Amenhotep’s army. Predictably, as the first wave of lumbering minions began to attack, they were cut down as easily as stalks of barley. And while Satiah’s Shieldmaiden seemed to be holding her own as well, Atem knew it would be foolish to stay where they were.

“We have to get to the palace!” he called to Satiah. Over his shoulder, he saw her nod her agreement.

Together with their spirits, they turned north toward the palace, which rose above the sea of warriors like cliffs over a thrashing surf.

Atem braced himself as the bloodthirsty spectres crashed upon them, and in flashes of bronze and silver and umbral black, he and Satiah cleaved a path through their foes. The Shieldmaiden was methodical — precise; the Black Luster Soldier, mighty and merciless. When a moment ago, Atem had been stricken by dread, with each swing of his monster’s blade, he could feel his soul growing hot with vigor. These sensations felt strangely foreign to him — any other time, casting such powerful magic would have quickly drained him of his  _ ba _ . But as he looked over at Satiah, watching lightning flashing in her eyes as she commanded her spirit, he felt almost unstoppable.

Soon, they crested a hill, bringing them to the base of the promenade leading to the south-facing pylons of the palace. Briefly, Atem looked back to see decimation in their wake, but the stairs to the top of the promenade were swarming with still more warriors.

As Satiah ordered her Shieldmaiden to advance, Atem reached out a hand to stop her. “You protect the rear — leave this to me!” he called, sweeping his arm out to the Black Luster Soldier. The powerful creature rushed up to the bottom of the stairs, where a line of four men had begun descending toward them. The Soldier coiled its attacking arm back, then thrust it forward, skewering all four men as easily as fish to a spear. With a low growl, the Soldier hoisted its blade off the side of the stairs, sending the conquered minions sliding off to land in a crumpled heap in the sand.

Atem grinned wickedly, turning to motion for Satiah. She concealed her wonder with a smirk of her own, then quickly set off up the stairs behind the Black Luster Soldier.

“Not bad,” she muttered as she passed. “But these are all mine.”

Sure enough, more soldiers stood between them and the palace, and Satiah immediately set to work ordering her Shieldmaiden to clear a path. Atem was in awe watching his wife work — the way her head looked to be on a swivel as she identified and called out the nearest threat. She and her  _ ka _ seemed to be in perfect sync, despite the many weeks they’d spent apart, and Atem found himself wondering how he had ever considered leaving Satiah behind.

Just then, the air broke with a low, deafening sound that Atem at first thought to be another crash of thunder — but as his eyes were drawn to the source of it, above the palace walls, he was greeted with a harrowing sight: a shadow was cast upon the blue-black clouds, in the shape of two great webbed wings, unfurling to nearly the height and length of the pylons themselves.

Rapt by the sight as well, Satiah faltered a moment, long enough for her Shieldmaiden to be besieged by spectres. One of Amenhotep’s minions managed to slash its sword across the spirit’s shoulder, causing her to roar in pain and drop to one knee. Satiah, too, hissed sharply and grasped her arm. Incensed, Atem immediately sent his Black Luster Soldier in to deal with the attackers. In three wide swings of his sword, the spirit cut down the remaining warriors surrounding the gate of the palace. Atem turned back to Satiah, but she and her  _ ka _ had already gathered themselves and turned to face the dark corridor beyond the gate.

With the path cleared, Atem ordered his  _ ka _ to lead the way into the palace. Though the torches along the halls had all been snuffed out, he was able to follow the burnished glint of the Black Luster Soldier as it plunged deep into the darkness. More low rumbles and inhuman roars shook the palace walls, but Atem hardened himself, drawing on his new strength in preparation for what they would find at the heart of the storm.

As they rounded the corner toward the throne room, they were stopped in their tracks by an earth-shattering blast erupting through the wall, sending sand and stone cascading over their heads. Satiah’s  _ ka _ raised her shield to protect them from the debris, partially concealing a flash of golden scales which hung out of the collapsed wall for a moment before slithering back inside the throne room.

Atem and Satiah shared a stunned look before climbing over the rubble and making for the door. As they stepped up to the crumbling archway, the sights and sounds of a raucous battle splashed over them, painting the throne room with flashes of light and chaos. Atem led the way just inside the door, crouching behind a pillar to get a better look at the clash.

Two colossal  _ ka  _ were tangling with one another — one a towering creature of blue, the other gold-tinged and scaled. The blue monster — built of hulking sinew, with razor-sharp teeth and claws — was easily twice as tall as the other, and already looked to have the upper hand in the fight. Its foe was a dragon-like creature with a long, slithering body of gold and a black underbelly. As Atem looked closer, he realized the creature had three heads — two of which were currently clutched within the claws of the blue monster.

“Look!”

Satiah stretched out her finger toward the left side of the throne room, and in the flash of the strife, Atem clearly saw a man standing behind the blue  _ ka _ . He was tall and noble, but he wore no royal regalia or symbols about his battleworn armor. Instinctively, Atem swept his eyes to the other side of the arena. Sure enough, standing staggered behind the gold spirit was another man — and this one was instantly recognizable as Amenhotep. His long, sharp features were dripping with blood, his  _ pschent  _ crown sliding down his narrow brow.

By the time Atem returned his gaze to the battle, the throne room was already shaking with another guttural cry. The blue spirit spread and beat its webbed wings, helping to balance its weight as it grappled the gold dragon down to the floor of the arena, pinning it beneath its clawed foot.

Behind it, the spirit’s master stepped up and thrust out his hand. “Obelisk!” the man cried. “Mighty Soldier of Horus! Send this heretic to the underworld!  _ God Hand Crusher!” _

The creature lifted its immense hand above its head, gathering a swarm of lightning in its palm before bringing it back down to the earth and delivering a deadly blow to its foe. 

The chamber was filled with a chorus of pain and agony, both from Amenhotep and his  _ ka _ , which was now turning to stone beneath the blue spirit — Obelisk, as it was called. The heretic Pharaoh fell prostrate to the ground with a pitiful whimper — vanquished once and for all by Ramesses the Great.

Atem watched Egypt’s most glorious king turn his gaze up to his spirit, whose red eyes glinted triumphantly as a silence fell over the arena. But not a shadow of a moment passed before both Ramesses and Obelisk turned their heads to where Atem and Satiah stood crouched in their dark corner of the throne room. Frozen with fear, Atem could do nothing but stare back — watching as Amenhotep, his spirit, and Ramesses’ own body slowly turned brown and withered, blown away on the winds like so much sand in the desert, leaving nothing but the mighty Obelisk standing at the center of the arena.

The creature’s shining teeth parted to release a roar of defiance. It raised its hands over its head again, gathering more lightning at its fingertips.

“What is it doing?” Satiah hissed.

Atem felt a chill ricochet down his spine. He grabbed Satiah’s hand, then pulled her out from behind the pillar, just as Obelisk sent a storm of lightning to strike where they’d just been standing.

Taking shelter behind another pillar, Atem checked to make sure their spirits had made it out as well. “If I had to guess — it’s challenging us to a duel,” Atem explained to Satiah.

“What?! How can we possibly—”

But she was cut off again, this time by another bolt of thunder that sent part of the ceiling crashing down before them. 

Atem was not content to let the challenge go unanswered. Centering himself with a sharp breath, he dashed out from behind the pillar, turning to face the Holy  _ Ka _ before him. “Black Luster Soldier — attack!”

Small though it was compared to Obelisk, the Soldier did not hesitate to heed its master’s call. Bravely, it streaked across the floor of the throne room, kicking off the ground to launch itself into it’s foe’s exposed core. Atem braced himself for the impact, which came a moment later, to the tune of split flesh and a roar of pain. Obelisk reeled back, and Atem clenched his fists in triumph — but his celebration was premature. The God reached out one of its clawed hands and clamped down on the Soldier’s legs; with a lazy flick of its wrist, Obelisk sent Atem’s spirit careening toward the earth.

The Black Luster Soldier landed hard on the floor of the throne room, leaving a crater of cracked tiles and sending all the air rushing out of Atem’s lungs. He doubled over and clutched his middle, just barely managing to stay on his feet.

“Atem!”

Satiah’s voice was drowned in another thunderous bellow, and Atem saw a shadow growing over him and his spirit where it lay writhing a few yards away. By the time Atem straightened, Obelisk was already raising its arm to deliver another blow of its God Hand to the Black Luster Soldier.

Suddenly, a streak of silver caught his eye, rushing out of the blackness to meet the God’s fist. The throne room was then engulfed in white light, forcing Atem to wince away. But to his ears came an unmistakable sound: Satiah crying out in pain and her body collapsing to the ground.

As the light dissipated, he was greeted first with the sight of the Shieldmaiden’s limp form, lying beside the Black Luster Soldier, her shield discarded and cracked in half from where the God’s fist had collided with it. He snapped his eyes behind, just in time to see Satiah pulling herself to her feet, her quivering arms hugging herself.

Instantly, Atem rushed to her, taking her beneath the arm and leading her behind a hypostyle pillar nearby. Over his shoulder, he saw the Soldier and the Shieldmaiden staggering to their feet and retreating as well.

“Brute force won’t be enough,” Satiah choked. Her breaths were labored — her  _ ba _ winnowing. “You must tame it!”

Atem danced his eyes across her pained face, trying to find strength in her words again.

Suddenly, she grabbed his arm, squeezing hard. “Trust in your own  _ ka _ ,” she gasped.

Blinking, Atem hesitated. But another low growl forced him back to the present moment. With a firm nod, he took her hands and kissed them before revealing himself to the God once more.

The chamber shook with a roar of rage, but Atem stood tall. He raised his arm to the sky, feeling heat and power coursing through him as he summoned his own  _ ka _ . The Magician’s Apprentice materialized before him, violet robes unfurling, looking stronger and fiercer than Atem had ever seen.  _ Tamed, _ Atem remembered.  _ It must be tamed. _

The Apprentice reacted to Atem’s thoughts immediately. Its spellbook disappeared with a loud  _ pop _ , replaced a moment later with what looked like a long, coiled rope. But as the spirit unfurled the length and snapped it outward, Atem realized it was a whip — black and sharp, with a barbed tip that sparked as it cracked through the air. Grinning with new courage, Atem thrust his hand out to his  _ ka. _

“Attack!”

The Apprentice disappeared in a streak of violet, the length of its whip trailing behind. A moment later, the  _ ka  _ reappeared over Obelisk’s shoulder and lashed the sharp leather harshly across the God’s back. With a groan, the mighty spirit stumbled forward in an attempt to escape the next attack, but its mass was simply too immense.

“Again!”

Another loud crack filled the chamber, followed by more pealing roars.

_ “Again!” _

The whip fell once more.

Finally, the God made an attempt to strike back, swiping its huge claws at the Apprentice. But the lithe creature was too quick — it disappeared in another purple flash, this time materializing at the foot of a nearby pillar. It flicked its whip around the base of the column, causing the barbed end to grip to itself, anchoring it in place. Again, Obelisk pursued, but with another easy dodge, the Apprentice flew across the chamber, crossing around behind a second pillar, this time near the ceiling. The God stumbled into the taut line of the whip, soon more of the sharp leather had wrapped around its shoulders as the Apprentice once again swept across the throne room. Around and around, the spirit spun, tangling the God between leather and stone, until Obelisk could no longer move any of its extremities.

The Apprentice finally reappeared before Atem, its shaded features bearing a smug grin. Atem nodded, and his  _ ka _ responded by pulling hard on the end of the whip, causing the God to lose its balance and come crashing into the nearmost pillar. The column crumbled and rained upon Obelisk as both fell to the earth, sending sand and smoke into an enormous plume above the floor. When the air cleared, Atem’s  _ ka  _ was hovering proudly over its conquered foe, no longer an apprentice magician, but a God-Tamer.

But Obelisk still moved. Groaning its anger, its wings struggled against the whip which bound it, and Atem feared it would soon break free. Then, suddenly, another flicker of movement caught his eye. The Shieldmaiden had staggered out from behind a nearby pillar, clutching her spear in both hands. She stumbled forward, casting her eyes up at the Magician, who returned the gaze with wonder. With a triumphant roar, the Shieldmaiden threw her spear into the air, straight at Atem’s  _ ka. _

In a flash of silver light, the Magician caught the spear, spun it downward, and thrust it straight between the God’s shoulder blades.

Instantly, the chamber was filled with the same light and emptiness which had marked their arrival to this dreamscape. Through squinted eyes, Atem saw the form of the God melting into a spectral glow, twisting and braiding around itself until it was called upward toward the heavens, as fast as lightning streaking across the sky.

The force of its departure knocked Atem off his feet, bringing him crashing to the floor. He blinked the stars from his eyes, greeted now with an unfamiliar ceiling, much lower than that of the throne room. As he sat up, the vague edges of a torchlit sarcophagus took shape in the dark, flanked by Satiah’s writhing form.

Atem surged to his feet and knelt beside her, helping her to sit up. “Are you alright?” he breathed.

She nodded, though a cough shook her lungs before she could speak. “Did we succeed?”

Atem looked toward the exit of the burial chamber, his heart thrashing with anticipation and wonder and fear. Satiah was first to scramble to her feet, bracing herself against Menkaura’s sarcophagus to grab the torch she’d hung on the wall. They exchanged nervous glances before hurrying back through the pyramid, searching for the weak flicker of starlight at the end of the maze of corridors. 

When at last they emerged back in the shifting sands, they were met with silence — and eyes. Dozens and dozens of eyes. Atem stared back at them, searching for Seto and Mahad among the sea of faces. He finally found them, standing beside the huge slab in the middle of the clearing — the slab now etched with the likeness of Obelisk, the Soldier of Horus.

Immediately, Atem turned to Satiah. She dropped the torch and threw her arms around him, crashing her lips into his to share in the euphoria of their triumph. Atem held to her, kissing her fiercely even as laughter and amused applause began to ripple amongst their comrades. The soldiers banged their spears against their shields, and Atem felt his captured lips turning up into a smile.

They finally broke apart only at the sound of a throat being cleared nearby. Mahad was approaching, towing two horses behind him, which he offered to Atem and Satiah with a sheepish grin. King and Queen each took their reins and mounted, setting off through the desert to chase this newly kindled joy.

...

Atem was glad that the ride back through the desert hadn’t tempered Satiah’s passion in the least. From the moment they dismounted their horses and gave them to the stablehands, she turned to him with a knowing smile, then reached her hand out to him. He took it, and together they raced through the villa courtyard like forbidden lovers searching for a secret place to steal kisses. 

And kiss they did — after bursting through the door to the nomarch’s suite and climbing the stairs to the bedchamber, Satiah threw her arms around his neck and kissed him as ardently as she had in the shadow of the pyramid. Atem returned the affections, carefully backing his way through the room until he was pinned against the wall between the bed and the bureau.

The meeting of their bodies caused a slight twinge of pain at his chest. Satiah must have felt it too, as she exhaled sharply and pulled away, her eyes falling downward to the space between them — to the Millennium Pendant, cradled just below Atem’s heart.

When Satiah lifted her eyes again, they were lashing and flickering like fire. Slowly, she took hold of the Pendant, and, with a flourish, she lifted it over his head and tossed it carelessly onto the bureau, where it landed with a loud  _ thump. _ Smiling, she surged forward to resume their kiss.

While their lips pulsed together in rapture, Atem followed her lead and began removing her cloak and twisting her bangles from her wrists, throwing both onto the floor behind her. All the while, Satiah helped him free of his own adornments, his arm bands and gold-plated belt clattering to the floor a moment later. Their kiss was broken only when it came time for Atem to remove his collar and tunic, which soon fell to join the rest of his garb at his feet.

As the cool night air struck his skin, Atem’s breath caught in his throat, halting his eagerness long enough for him to drink in the sight of Satiah standing before him in only her dress. Satiah, too, took time to run her eyes across him, and Atem realized that this would, in all likelihood, be the most freely they had looked upon one another in the two months of their marriage. The thought set his heart aglow with a faithful thrill.

He watched as she slowly folded her arms around herself, her fingers trailing over her shoulders to slip beneath the straps of her dress. His heart skipped another beat, and he suddenly found himself reaching out to lay his hands over hers, stopping her short. 

“Sati,” he said, his voice a low whisper. “I love you. You understand that, don’t you?”

Her dark lashes fluttered as she blinked up at him, long and slow and trustful. Then, gradually, the warmth returned to her eyes and the smile to her lips, and she gave him a fearless nod, ready to join him in discovering this new and blossoming world of truth.


	33. Ask

Peace.

That was what Satiah felt — wrapped in her husband’s arms, skin against skin, heart against heart. With a long sigh, she nestled her cheek into his shoulder and traced her fingers along the tawny skin of his clavicle. He lifted his own hand and laid it over hers, bringing it to his lips to kiss the top of it. At this, Satiah tilted her chin up and looked into his eyes — deep and calm as the night sky that stretched across the heavens outside their window. 

It was strange to think that only hours earlier, they’d been staring into the face of a god, unsure if they would ever see that sky again. Now, such fears were no more than a shadow in her mind, eclipsed instead by the warm glow of joy — and love. Oh, how far they’d come, she thought. And how much more they had to look forward to.

“Where are your thoughts wandering?” he asked, releasing her hand to stroke his thumb across her lips.

Satiah smiled and drew her free hand up to rest her chin on it, continuing to trace lightly over his shoulder with the other. Against her better judgment, she let slip the curiosity perched on the tip of her tongue: “Atem, have you ever been in love before?”

He raised his eyebrows and pulled in a deep breath. Satiah felt herself rising and falling with the swell of his chest. A silence took hold, and she lost his gaze to the pull of the sky, though his expression remained measured as he flicked his eyes from star to star. “Once,” he said finally. “Or at least… I thought I was.”

Satiah made a low noise. “It was the servant woman — from the temple. Wasn’t it?”

He looked back, and again, surprise played across his features. But it was muted — charmed. “How did you know?”

Satiah grinned. “You are always subtle, my dear — except when you’re trying to be.”

A red tinge flared on his cheeks, his eyes dancing away in shame. 

At this, Satiah reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from his face, summoning his gaze back to her. “I’m not bitter,” she said. “She helped make you into the man you are today. And for that, I thank her.”

The soft arch of his brows lowered, creasing pensively. He then leaned up, cradling her cheek to draw her in for an adoring kiss. When he lowered his head back to the pillow, Satiah was happy to see him smiling again.

He took another steep breath. “What about you, then? Has any man ever captured your heart?”

Satiah hissed a wry laugh. “Oh, I thought I was in love with every boy I kissed from the moment I knew what kissing was.” She giggled again at the skeptical look on her husband’s face. “It’s the natural consequence when you’ve had no mother to tell you to stop flirting all the time and a father who turned a blind eye to it. It actually took admonishment from my mentor to get me to finally change my ways.” Satiah sighed wistfully thinking about her youth. She could still picture Jahar’s severe stare from the last time she’d been caught necking with a classmate behind the temple. “He used to say, ‘Sati, if you don’t stop chasing boys, you’ll never become a high priestess.’ I suppose he was right, in a way.”

When Satiah returned her eyes to Atem, he was looking rather guilty again. “I didn’t know you wanted to be a high priestess,” he said, holding tenuously to her upper arm. “I thought you — and your father—”

Satiah tilted her head. “My father and I don’t see eye to eye on  _ everything, _ you know,” she said. “It may seem hard to believe, but I even encouraged him to seek peace with your family at first. I never wanted violence. And I don’t think he did either. He was just … misguided.”

Atem lowered his eyes, nodding once in understanding.

In the silence that followed, Satiah found her attention drawn to the bureau on the other side of the room, upon which sat the Millennium Pendant, gleaming softly in the light of a nearby candle. “The truth is, I do still fear the Items,” she went on. She felt her husband’s eyes on her, but she remained mesmerized by the flame flickering along planes of gold. “Perhaps even more now than I did before.”

Just then, Atem cupped her cheek, guiding her gaze back to him. There was a certain earnestness in his eyes, as if he were trying to atone for a sin he hadn’t yet committed. 

Satiah sighed ruefully, leaning her head into his palm. “But it gives me hope,” she said, “to know that a good man is wielding them. And hope is about the best thing we have right now.”

Atem flashed a reserved smile, then slipped his fingers further behind her head to pull her in for another kiss, flaring to life a delicate glow between them. Satiah welcomed it, freeing herself to it, allowing herself to be turned over on her back, with Atem rising over her like a flame through tinder. They consumed one another in their passion, all wetted lips and tangled limbs, until Atem broke away unexpectedly.

Satiah looked up at her husband through half-lidded eyes, watching the way he studied every inch of her face as he held it in his hands.

“We have each other,” he said. 

Her heart smoldered in the wake of his words, and she pulled him eagerly down upon her again, wanting nothing more than to warm herself in his fire, over and over — forever if she could.

Hours later, as a new day dawned upon them, Satiah was left wondering whether she should thank the gods’ grace — or the treacherous darkness for bringing them together.

* * *

The weeks following their triumph at Menkaura’s tomb passed in a whirlwind. Satiah spent most of her time working to translate the spells needed for the remaining two trials, while Atem attended to state business as needed. Busy as they were, they both went out of their way to make time for one another, taking evening walks in the garden or meeting in the temple pavilion for tea between court sessions. 

Satiah was touched by her husband’s near-unceasing desire to be near her — and his quiet reluctance to leave her side when duty called him. It was for this reason she found herself delighted when Atem began asking her to attend court sessions with him — though only an “observer”, he’d told her — where she could watch quietly from the gallery with the scribes and record-keepers.

Thankfully, Atem had inherited his father’s level head and fair hand, but it was clear he still had a shine of greenness to him, which was only exacerbated by his lack of knowledge regarding the political landscape of Lower Egypt. During meetings with local leaders, his Guardians would hover over his shoulder, bending to whisper in his ear at every opportunity. Satiah knew the northern lords would not be amused by such theatrics, but so far they were maintaining their patience with the new king.

In truth, Satiah found it quite difficult to hold her tongue during some of the more awkward exchanges. Still, she continued to show up and support her husband — though she kept herself thoroughly occupied by translating spells from her secluded corner of the gallery. But after her fifth straight day of this, she found herself looking up from her work to see a familiar face entering the temple court hall.

It was Anuket — a childhood friend of Satiah’s, and a fellow nomarch’s daughter. Anuket’s father ruled over the Sapi-Res nome, whose capital, Khem, stood as the last harbor between the Nile and its fertile delta.

Upon seeing her friend striding purposefully into the hall, Satiah’s heart first soared, then fell — if Anuket herself was coming to treat with the king, it did not bode well for her father.

Satiah longed to rush out and throw her arms around her friend, but she held back, watching as Anuket came to stand at the foot of the dais, where she stooped into a kneeling bow before the Pharaoh. Though it had only been two seasons since Satiah had last seen Anuket, it seemed almost everything about her was different in some way. At thirty, Anuket was almost a full decade older than Satiah, but she now looked nearly twice that. Her auburn hair, which once flowed down past her waist, had been cropped up above her shoulders. She was dressed in lightweight leather armor, and she bore a small circular shield about her back and a long sword at her waist, which Satiah found even more strange — she had never known Anuket to wield weapons of war.

“My Pharaoh,” Anuket said, rising from her bow. “Thank you for granting me an audience on such short notice.”

Satiah felt a roil in her stomach as Aknadin suddenly leaned in to whisper to Atem, who turned to Anuket with a furrowed brow.

“Lady Anuket, daughter of Ahmose,” he said. “My court tells me I was to expect a personal visit from the nomarch of Sapi-Res at today’s meeting. Tell me, where is your father?”

“Ill, my king,” Anuket replied. Satiah’s stomach turned again. “A fever befell him unexpectedly.”

Atem lifted his head a bit. “I’m very sorry to hear that, my lady,” he said. “Please give my best to him upon your return.”

“Thank you, Pharaoh,” Anuket said. She opened her mouth to continue, but before she could, Aknadin leaned into Atem’s ear again. Anuket flashed her eyes upward impatiently. “My king, I understand you are very busy, so let me speak plainly. I have come to once again ask for the crown’s assistance in expelling the bandits who have been occupying the temple ruins across our nome.”

Another whisper made its way to Atem’s ear, this time from Seto. As the priest stepped away, Atem leaned back and cleared his throat. “My lady, is there any reason this meeting cannot wait until after your father has recovered?”

Satiah felt every bit of consternation that flickered on Anuket’s face, though she seemed too appalled to even reply.

Atem must have sensed it too, as he looked to his Guardians once again, who were conveniently silent all of a sudden. “I mean no offense … but my previous negotiations on this matter were made with your father — not you.”

“I was not aware there was anything to negotiate,” Anuket retorted. “This is not some frivolous matter of coin or crop. My nome is under siege—”

Aknadin took a strong step toward the edge of the dais. “I advise the lady to watch her tone before her king—”

Without another thought, Satiah surged out of her chair, sending a loud scraping sound echoing through the hall. All eyes snapped to her, including Anuket’s, which grew wide as Satiah stepped out of the shadows and came to stand at the foot of the dais.

“Sati?” Anuket breathed. Then, remembering herself, she bent steeply at the waist and sputtered: “My queen!”

Satiah smiled as Anuket straightened. Her dark green eyes were still as big as lily pads. “It’s good to see you, old friend,” Satiah said, laying a hand on Anuket’s shoulder to draw her in for a brief embrace. Again, Satiah saw Aknadin’s shadow squirming over them. “Such a shame about your father,” Satiah went on. “But he is too stubborn to let a fever slow him down. I trust he will be back on his feet by the time you return to Khem.”

“Gods willing,” Anuket said.

Satiah felt the heated eyes of the court searing into the side of her head, but she continued to pay them no mind. “Tell me more about this issue facing you and your nome.”

Anuket put a hand to her heart and lowered her head. “My queen, for nearly a month now, the temple ruins all across our lands have been besieged by bandits,” she said. “We have tried to push them back, and in some areas, local militia have succeeded in holding ground, but the bandits are persistent. I worry that they will soon begin striking at the surrounding towns and cities.”

“I see,” Satiah hummed. “Bandits in Lower Egypt are a ruthless bunch. I suspect you will need more than farmers wielding spears and arrows to subdue them. Have you considered deploying priests to support the militia?”

Anuket nodded. “We have, my queen, but our spellcasters are already spread quite thin,” she said gravely. “The Khem Conclave has seen many …  _ resignations _ in our ranks since your father—” She paused, flicking her eyes briefly up to the dais. “Since the changes here in Ineb-Hedj.”

Satiah, too, let her eyes drift over her shoulder. Aknadin seemed even more incensed than usual, but she was surprised to see Atem looking rather piqued as well. “That simply won’t do,” Satiah said, upping the volume of her voice and turning to face the dais fully. “We cannot let our kin in the north be picked apart by bandits. Seto, put together a team of ten apprentice spellcasters, and send them back to Sapi-Res with Anuket and her convoy.”

Immediately, Seto looked to his king. Atem’s features were drawn tight, but he nodded curtly to Seto, who bowed and excused himself a moment later.

With a pleased smirk, Satiah turned back to Anuket.

“Thank you, my queen,” Anuket said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“It is the least we can do,” Satiah replied, laying a hand on her friend’s shoulder again. “Could I convince you to stay the night before your journey back? You must be in need of some rest.”

“I wish I could, my queen, but I shouldn’t leave my father for longer than I need to,” Anuket said. “I will depart with the apprentices as soon as they are ready.”

Satiah nodded. “I understand completely.” She drew her friend in for another embrace. “Please, travel safely, and give my love to your father.”

“And mine to yours,” Anuket said, pulling away. She turned to the dais and sank into another low bow. “A thousand blessings to you, my Pharaoh. Sapi-Res will not soon forget your generosity.”

With that, Anuket nodded to Satiah one last time before whirling around and leaving the court hall.

Satiah smiled warmly after her friend, but when she turned back to the dais, she found her skin bristling with a chill. Atem had stood, though he kept his shaded eyes on her only for a moment before addressing the gallery. “That will be all for today’s session,” he announced. He then turned to Mahad and Aknadin, speaking to them in hushed tones while the scribes began rolling up their scrolls and gathering their belongings.

Satiah moved back into the shadows to do the same. Quickly, she packed away the Millennium Tome and the Codex, sealing them inside the lockbox with the cartouche key. As she moved to leave the court hall with the rest of the observers, she stopped upon sensing a presence at her back.

“Satiah, may I speak with you for a moment?”

She looked over her shoulder to see Atem’s shadow looming over her, and more cold needles prickled along her skin. She nodded her consent, then placed the lockbox back down and turned to face him fully; he failed to meet her eyes until the murmurings of the scribes could no longer be heard from the hall beyond.

“I understand that Anuket is your friend,” he started, choosing his words very deliberately. “And I know you meant well with your actions…”

Satiah bit her tongue, waiting for the contingency.

“But I do not believe it wise for you to speak out of turn like that in front of the court.”

Satiah drew her shoulders up in scorn. “Is that truly how you feel? Or are you merely playing puppet for your Guardians once again?”

Atem’s brow furrowed incredulously, as if he had been expecting her to be thankful for his unsolicited advice.

“I suppose you  _ would _ prefer me silent,” Satiah snapped. “Another trophy for you to vault up next to your captured god.”

Atem hissed a sigh. “Satiah, you know I value your thoughts,” he said, though his tone was hardly reassuring. “But when you make promises to your friends without consulting me first, you risk undermining my authority.”

“Undermining?” Satiah repeated, her tongue lashing sharply across each syllable. “Is that what you call it when someone tries to help you?”

He worked his jaw, and Satiah could see the sinew moving precariously in his neck and over his temple. “If I felt I needed your help, I would have asked for it.”

“Really?” Satiah felt her voice thinning in the tight grasp of anger. “Because there have been a great many things you have not  _ asked _ of me since the start of our marriage, and yet I have done them just the same.”

Atem’s eyes went wide, his mouth falling open as if to speak, but the only thing he could do was pull in a hitched breath. Though Satiah could feel her heart fluttering between spite and guilt, she fought hard to keep the latter from showing on her features.

Before either of them could utter another word, the clatter of footsteps consumed the hall. Atem was first to turn his head, and almost immediately, he became stoic king once more.

Clenching her teeth, Satiah looked over her shoulder to see Mahad jogging up, breathless. 

“Your highnesses,” he panted, “come quickly. There’s trouble at the gates.”

* * *

**AN:** Man it’s tough swinging from highs to lows, isn’t it? But I really enjoy exploring these many sides of Atem and Satiah, and I hope you do too! There’s lots more excitement to look forward to in the coming chapters, so thanks for continuing to follow along.


	34. Mercy

Atem felt as if his body were on fire as he trailed after Mahad toward the temple gate — half from anticipation, half from the lingering animosity between him and Satiah. He wondered if perhaps it was Satiah herself who was giving off the heat he felt, her feet treading loudly on the tiles as she walked only a fraction of a pace behind him. 

He was no stranger to the presence of venom in her voice — after all, it had been dripping from her words the very first time he’d ever heard her speak. But for some reason, her last diatribe had infected him particularly deep. He’d felt it, somewhere between the lashing of her tongue and her strangled intonation — the subtle but ever so distinct reminder that their marriage had been built on a foundation of coercion.

Atem forced himself to swallow his unease as they rounded the corner into the rear courtyard of the temple, where Seto and Aknadin were waiting just inside the westernmost gate, along with a handful of lesser priests. Mahad hurried forward to join the other Guardians, who all turned to face Satiah and Atem as they approached.

“They arrived just moments ago,” Seto explained, his voice grave. “They have asked for nothing but an audience with the king and queen.”

Atem looked hard at his Guardians. “Who?”

Seto gestured through the temple gate. Atem stepped into the shadow of the pylon, his gaze sweeping up the western ridge that grew overhead. His eyes went wide at the sight — there, dotted like locusts along the rocky slopes, were dozens and dozens of people — all mounted on horseback and dressed in the unmistakable robes of priesthood.

Atem lowered his gaze to the base of the mountain, where two shapes stood side-by-side in the rippling heat, no more than twenty yards away. Shielding his eyes from the sinking sun, Atem’s heart thundered as the foremost man came into view: Metjen stumbled to his knees, his mouth gagged and hands tied behind his back.

“Father!”

Before Atem could protest, Satiah was already setting off toward the foot of the slope. He opened his mouth to call for her, but she drew to a sudden stop on her own a moment later, when the second man took shape.

Into the heavy evening air, Satiah whispered, “…Jahar?”

Atem knew well this name, though he’d never met the man it belonged to. Jahar was none other than the disgraced Chief Priest of the Memphis Conclave, and Satiah’s former mentor.

Not long after his father’s death, Atem had been briefed on Jahar’s attempts at stirring rebellion in the north. Predictably, Aknadin had been eager to root out the traitor, but in the weeks since Atem rose to the throne, it seemed as though Jahar and his followers had gone completely silent. Without any new intelligence to act on, and with so many other distractions arising, Atem had let the matter be swept from his mind like a wisp of dust in the desert.

But now, that wisp had returned — and in the form of a great sandstorm. Just from his cursory glance, Atem estimated at least thirty priests were dug in along the western ridge, and with the high ground on their side, they would be at a distinct advantage if they decided to strike first.

Quickly and quietly, Atem looked over his shoulder to his Guardians. “No one is to address this man except myself and the Queen,” he whispered. “Am I understood?” They nodded, some more firmly than others.

When Atem turned back, a flash of movement caught his eye — Jahar had surged forward and grabbed Metjen beneath the arm, forcing him onward. Atem studied the priest as he slowly approached. Though Jahar was an elderly man — nearing seventy from what Atem could remember from Aknadin’s briefings — he had a youthful vigor about him that made him appear much younger. He was completely clean-shaven, even his eyebrows, and he’d painted his lids with so much ink and ash that it seemed his eyes were peering out from the very depths of his soul. He was wearing a bright blue skullcap and a false beard — a tribute to the creator god, Ptah, one of the patron deities of Memphis.

When Jahar had closed at least half the distance between them, he stopped.

“Hello, Sati,” he said, his voice thin and reedy, but commanding just the same. “It’s good to see my favorite student again — though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Jahar,” Satiah gasped. Even from several paces behind her, Atem could feel the pain of betrayal in her voice. “Why have you taken my father prisoner?”

Jahar smiled as he glanced at Metjen, who was sporting several fresh bruises and a large cut above his brow. “This fool…” Jahar turned, projecting his voice louder across the clearing and the ridgeline, “came to beg my surrender!”

Atem flashed his eyes up the slope as laughter staggered through the company of opposing priests.

“It seems he has grown weak in the months without his  _ ka _ ,” Jahar went on. “Still, he should have known better than to assume I would kneel before heresy so easily.”

Satiah raised a hand to her heart. “Please,” she breathed. “Let him go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Sati,” Jahar replied. “Not until I’ve spoken with the Pharaoh.” Jahar’s dark eyes shifted, settling directly on Atem. “Come now, your highness — why do you cower behind your wife? Why not face me bravely like the god-king you claim to be?”

Immediately, Atem felt himself compelled into motion. He came up beside Satiah, where he laid a heavy hand to her shoulder and squared his body in front of hers.

“You have your audience,” Atem said, cutting quick. “Now release Metjen.”

Jahar smiled. “As you wish, my king.” He lifted a hand and pushed hard on Metjen’s shoulder, causing him to stumble several paces forward before falling roughly to the ground.

Satiah rushed out and dropped to her knees before her father, pulling away his bonds and gag and helping him to sit up.

“I’m sorry, Sati,” he said in a low voice. “I failed you…”

She shook her head and hugged him, then helped him to his feet. Together, they receded back toward the temple. Atem met his wife’s eyes only for a flicker of a moment as she passed him. Whatever anger she’d been holding onto from their previous dispute was now completely gone. For perhaps the first time in as long as he’d known her, Satiah looked truly fearful.

With a deep inhale, he returned his stare to his foe.

“Atem, son of Aknamkanon,” Jahar called, drawing himself up proudly. “Your reputation precedes you. Barely a month upon your father’s throne, and they say you have already added a god to your growing collection of stolen spirits.”

Atem felt his breath circling painfully in his lungs. “Chief Priest Jahar,” he replied loudly. “I must admit, my patience for rebellion runs even thinner than my father’s.” He swept his eyes along the ridgeline behind the old priest. “Tell me, what grievance do you bear that would cause you to threaten such violence on the doorstep of your own homeland?”

Jahar scoffed dismissively. “When we defected from the Conclave, it was out of loyalty to our fallen nomarch — and anger for the  _ upheaval  _ of his noble lineage.” He shifted his eyes briefly toward the temple, where Satiah was tending to her father’s injuries just inside the gate. “But when that  _ lapdog  _ came to me, pleading for my surrender… I realized there was much more at stake than just a simple matter of bloodlines. For years we have been forced to live under the tyranny of your father, watching as the souls of our brothers and sisters across Egypt are ripped out and sealed for all eternity. When Anubis finally came for him, we rejoiced—” Atem curled his hands into fists, “—hopeful that his successor would put an end to these crimes. But you were not content to simply follow in your father’s footsteps, were you? You have since defiled the tombs of your holy ancestors, and added heresy to the list of your family’s many sins!”

With some effort, Atem unclenched his quivering jaw. “I have lived my whole life in the long shadow of my kin,” he started. “But I  _ will not _ be bound by their actions — sinful or otherwise. Nor will I entertain such treasonous claims from my subjects! This country has seen decades of peace under the rule of my father, and so it shall remain under mine.” Atem thrust his hand out to his foe. “To that end, you will kneel before your Pharaoh, or you will suffer the fate of all traitors.”

Jahar barked a wry laugh. “How tempting an offer! After all, it seems with enough groveling, even a traitor can rise to become the Pharaoh’s faithful lapdog.” More amusement rippled among the priests along the ridgeline. “But I assure you, we have no intention of bowing to heretics or boy-kings.”

“Then it is a good thing he is neither.”

Atem tensed at the familiar voice, and he turned to see Satiah standing behind him again, her amber eyes aflame in the light of the sinking sun. 

“It was the very gods themselves who charged the Pharaoh with securing the Holy  _ Ka _ ,” she went on. “Our battle — the only battle that matters now — is against the darkness. And no one else.”

Atem looked back at the old priest. His eyes had gone wide and shining as his former student addressed him directly. “Satiah,” he said softly. “All of Memphis wept the day you were taken from us. We hoped against hope you would one day return to serve as rightful caretaker of this nome.” He blinked, and any hint of sentimentality was quickly purged from his stare. “But I see now our tears were in vain. If you would rather bow to your royal husband than take up your father’s mantle, then so be it.”

“Jahar—” Satiah choked. “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Sati. But you leave us no choice.” He cut her from his gaze, settling it squarely on Atem now. “Come, boy. If you truly believe yourself to be the god’s chosen one — then prove it.  _ Duel me. _ ”

Atem sucked in a deep breath, feeding the fire in the pit of his stomach. A footstep nestled into the sand behind him, but he held out his arm before his wife could speak the words on her tongue.

“I accept,” he announced. “On one condition: You and I shall be the only competitors in this duel. No one — not a single soul on either side — shall interfere.”

Jahar smirked. “I would have it no other way.”

Atem smelled the salt of brimming tears behind him, but he dare not take his eyes from his foe. “Tend to your father,” he said in a low voice, barely so much as turning his shoulders to Satiah.

The heavy silence was cut in half by a sharp breath, followed by hurried footsteps. When Atem was sure the battlefield was clear, he angled himself toward his foe and drew deeply from the anger thrashing in his soul.

_ “DIAHA!” _

Light crashed down from the heavens — two ragged bolts surrounding the duelists, sending forth their hostile  _ ka.  _ Atem called instinctively on his trusted God-Tamer Magician, who had since grown to be his strongest companion after their triumph in Menkaura’s tomb. It materialized at Atem’s command, adorned now in sleek armor and bearing its coiled whip.

Across the clearing, the white light of magic turned skyward and unfurled to shimmer umbral in the sinking sun. Silky black wings stretched out from Jahar’s creature, framing a narrow bird-like head, beset with eyes as red as sun disks. All the way down its slender neck, body, and tail, dark sinew rippled like freshly forged armor. “Red-Eyes Black Dragon! Cleanse this tyrant with your burning flame!”

The air was filled with a shrill cry, which echoed and distorted into something much more sinister as the red-eyed Dragon circled over the arena. It stopped to hover above Atem’s Magician, and the creature’s jaws separated, white teeth flaring red as fire gathered behind them.

Hurriedly, Atem ordered his  _ ka _ to dodge — and not a moment too soon. The Dragon unleashed a hellish ball of fire from its mouth, careening toward the earth at lightning speed. It erupted against the ground, and Atem himself had to shield his head from the debris which rained down afterward. Thankfully, as he turned his eyes up, his Magician appeared to have eluded the attack, flying well within striking distance of the Dragon now — slightly below and behind it.

“Attack!” Atem ordered.

Obediently, the Magician curled its whip, which snapped forward in a blur of black and a crash of broken air. Atem clenched his fists in triumph to see the whip had connected squarely with one of the Dragon’s wing’s, its black flesh tangled in the barbed tether. The monster roared its disapproval, beating its free wing in an attempt to pull away. But bravely, the Magician held on.

Across the arena, Jahar shouted an incoherent command. Immediately, the Red-Eyes changed directions. Instead of flying away from the Magician, it took a steep dive toward it, then began curling its body in a tight spiral — spinning so fast Atem could no longer make out any of its distinctive features. He could sense the Magician’s fear as the whip was nearly torn from its hands, until finally the Dragon pulled up from its dive and spread its wings again — this time, freed from its bonds.

Reeling, Atem almost missed it when another glow of red began to form in the creature’s jaws. He swept his arm out toward his  _ ka _ , and the Magician just barely managed to escape yet another full-force blast of fire from its foe.

Weakened, the Magician was forced to return to the earth, where it sank down to one knee to gather itself. Urgently, Atem tried to restore a meaningful connection to his  _ ka _ — to give it the strength it needed to prevail. But by the time the spellcaster staggered to its feet, Jahar’s Dragon was already circling again, letting out another screeching cry ahead of its next attack.

But heat and fire never came. Instead, Atem looked up, just in time to see the red-eyed Dragon pulling in its wings, its sharp body bolting toward the ground with the speed of a swooping falcon. Again, Atem ordered the Magician to dodge, and clumsily, the spellcaster hurled itself skyward — almost directly into the path of the Dragon’s attack.

Atem felt it first — searing pain scratching down his back like hot nails, pulling forth a tortured groan from his lungs. The same pain echoed in a cry from his spirit, and through squinted eyes, Atem saw the Magician clutching at its own back as it continued to flee desperately into the air. Four sharp gashes were now carved deep into the spellcaster’s robes and armor, all the way down to bloodied skin.

Gasps and exclamations rippled among the spectators, friend and foe alike. Atem’s already incensed nerves were suddenly whipped into a thrashing sea. Given a burst of strength, his  _ ka _ responded, twisting its body to face the Red-Eyes again, which was still maintaining its pursuit. With both hands, the Magician snapped its whip, sending a black bolt streaking toward the Dragon.

This time, there was no satisfying  _ crack _ of a successful tether. Instead, the Dragon let loose a screech of triumph, and Atem felt his heart falling through his core to see the creature had caught the barbed end of the whip in both its hands.

The next brief moments passed like an eternity. The red-eyed Dragon soared overhead, wrapping the Magician in the slack of its own whip. With its foe entangled, the Red-Eyes then swooped backward in a wide arc, swinging the Magician like an obscene pendulum over the arena and back down toward the earth. Atem braced himself for the impact, but the brutal force still brought him crashing to his knees, his chest caving painfully inward.

More shouts and curses filled the air as Atem clutched to himself, squinting through one eye to see his spirit writhing in the dirt ahead of him. He tried to rally its strength, but heat soon gathered above him in the shadows; he turned his face up to watch as the red-eyed Dragon let loose a storm of hellfire upon his defenseless spirit.

Another listless moment was given new life at the sound of footsteps. Atem turned his head, though he already knew well whose feet were dashing across the hot sand — Satiah surged past him, her arm held up to the sky in preparation to summon her  _ ka. _

_ “No!” _ He staggered to his feet, thrusting both his hands out to his spirit where it lay several yards ahead. Grunting, the Magician sat up and curled its whip, cracking it in a tight circle over its head. A shimmering vortex appeared above the spirit, forming a windforce shield that succeeded in absorbing and diverting most of the Dragon’s attack. But the resounding clash of gale and fire cleaved a forceful void through the air, and Atem was forced to watch helplessly as his wife was knocked off her feet by a hailstorm of heated wind thrown in her direction.

When her body hit the sand, Atem felt as if his spirit had died a thousand times. But nothing — not even so much as a  _ breath _ left his lungs. Not until her shoulders stirred and her eyes lifted weakly up to meet his.

Then — everything.

Every possible emotion lashed itself across his heart: Fear. Sorrow. Guilt. 

_ Rage. _

Wrath and fury unlike anything he’d ever felt before. And suddenly —  _ pain _ trickled white-hot from the top of his head, and he turned that pain to his opponent — now no more than a fearful old man hiding beneath his spirit creature.

Atem felt the ground shaking beneath his feet, and within moments a shadow grew behind him, huge and towering and cloaked in Holy retribution. Fear infected the arena, but not a single man or woman could bear to take their eyes away from the God who had come to mete its wrath upon the plane of the living.

Across the way, Jahar fell back a step, into the safe shadow of his spirit creature. “Is this…?”

His head still clenched in a fist of pain, Atem finally allowed himself a life-giving breath. “Obelisk!” he cried. Then, he raised his hand, stretching just one finger out to channel every ounce of his essence toward his foe.  _ “Attack.” _

The God lifted its mighty foot and surged over Atem’s head, striding by him like a giant over a mountain. Bravely, Jahar made a move to order his  _ ka,  _ but no matter where the spirit flitted, it was only inches away from the hulking mass of Obelisk. Even as the red-eyed Dragon tried to unleash an attack, its fire sparked pitifully off Obelisk’s blue armor. Growling with impatience, Obelisk reached one of its clawed hands out and swiped at the air, easily catching the Red-Eyes in its grasp. The Dragon cried out like a fowl caught in a trap, its black wings slithering between Obelisk’s mighty fingers. The God bared its gleaming teeth in a grin of satisfaction, then swung its arm in a high arc over its head and loosed Jahar’s creature like a meteor toward the earth.

The thunderous impact nearly drowned the old priest’s strangled cry, but Atem made sure to savor every moment of it just the same. When the smoke cleared, Obelisk was left standing over the shattered husk of the Red-Eyes Black Dragon, driven deep into a scorched and smoldering crater.

Across the battlefield, Atem’s opponent slumped first to his knees, then teetered forward like a broken statue to collapse face-first into the sunbaked sand. Though Jahar’s  _ ba  _ was surely drained, Atem swore he saw the sun flickering off the body of his spirit creature. And so with pain still smoldering in his heart, Atem raised his hand again in gesture to his God. Obelisk groaned its consent, then lifted its hand to the sky, where sparks of white light gathered at the tips of its clawed fingers. 

When the God closed its fist, Atem felt his rage being replaced with something new — something almost  _ euphoric.  _ His lips curled up with a smile as Obelisk reared its hand back, ready to unleash righteous judgment upon its master’s enemy.

_ “STO-OP!” _

Warmth and mercy enveloped him, and Atem felt his new power fading like rain on dry sand. He blinked, and suddenly Satiah was everywhere, all around him — her trembling arms thrown about his middle, her tear-streaked face a canvas of tender pain and sorrow. Immediately, Obelisk halted its attack, almost without Atem even commanding it to do so. With a soft groan, it loosened its mighty fist and let it fall slack to its side. 

_ “Please,” _ Satiah begged, her voice hitched and halting. “No more.”

The battlefield fell as silent as a tomb, but each of his wife’s withering sobs was a spear through Atem’s heart. She crumpled against him, her fingers clawing at his cloak and arms. Even as shame wracked him, he could not bring himself to support her — to lift her back up and hold her as he so longed to do. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on the battlefield ahead — where the might of a God still towered over his conquered foe.

Slowly, Atem lifted a hand and wished away all the  _ ka _ before him. They disappeared like so much sand in the desert, leaving nothing but the eyes of man gazing down upon him from all angles. He felt their fear and anger — their wonder and horror. Along the ridge, Jahar’s followers stirred restlessly, trading whispers and uncertain glances in an attempt to find purpose in their leader’s full and resounding defeat.

Atem finally let his head fall away from them, turning to look at where Satiah still clutched weakly to his middle. Her amber eyes were as round as moon disks and drowned in tears. Atem clenched his teeth and lifted a hand to cover one of hers. At first, he meant only to hold it — in the hopes his touch might reassure her somehow. But soon, he found himself tugging on her fingers, loosening her death grip on his cloak. Coldly, he released her hand and made a move to leave her. The choked sound she let out sent another stake of shame into his heart, but he pushed through it — striding purposefully across the battlefield to stand over the motionless body of his opponent.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze back up to the mountainside. Wide eyes bloomed like stars across the ridgeline, but Jahar’s followers bravely stood their ground — a fact Atem could not help but respect.

“Your traitorous leader has been defeated,” he declared, his voice echoing among the rocks like a war drum. “By the grace of the gods, I have spared his life. Now, the time has come for you to make your decision. Submit to me unconditionally and I promise, no more blood shall be spilled. But if you should turn your back on your Pharaoh today, I swear upon the wrath of the Holy Gods — we will show you no such mercy as was given here today.”

Silence fell in the wake of his words, broken only by the snuffing of a horse or the trickle of sand across stones. Moments passed like hours, with the heat of Ra’s eye slowly winnowing to a thread behind the ridgeline. But in the end, not a single man or woman found words with which to address their king. Instead, one by one, they turned their horses westward, letting nothing but the hollow song of the wind speak for them.

Footsteps hurried across the sand behind him, and Atem knew his Guardians were rushing to his side. “Pharaoh!” came Aknadin’s panicked voice. “We must not let them get away! Quickly, send the Conclave in pursuit—”

Atem held up his hand, stopping the Guardian in his tracks. In the next brief silence, the sound of his wife’s weeping came flooding to his ears again. He looked back to see her being gathered in her father’s arms like a child. Atem watched guiltily as Metjen turned and receded toward the temple, his daughter’s face buried into his shoulder.

Briefly, Atem dropped his eyes to Jahar before he rounded on his Guardians. “Take him to the cells.”

Suddenly, Seto stepped forward. “What of his  _ ka?” _

Atem he kept his eyes locked on his wife and her father until they disappeared beyond the temple gate. “Leave it.”

Seto looked vexed. “But, my king—”

“That was an order,” Atem snapped.

Stunned, Seto lowered his head and pressed a hand to his heart. Mahad made a quick gesture to the group of priests standing near the edge of the temple, who sent two men over to take Jahar under the arms. Swiftly, they carried the old man into the temple, with the rest of the priests and Guardians trailing behind.

When they were gone, Atem turned his eyes back to the ridgeline to watch the last of Jahar’s followers disappear into the safe embrace of the mountains.


	35. Heart

Dawn broke on Satiah like a spear driven into prey, but even as her tired eyes were greeted by harsh daylight, her nightmares lingered on. 

She blinked and pushed herself to a sitting position on the stone bench beneath her, casting her face in the shadow of a palm tree overhead. It took her several lethargic moments to even recognize her surroundings: After spending nearly the entire night by Jahar’s bedside in the prison cellar, she’d eventually stolen away to a quiet corner of the villa courtyard to sleep off her exhaustion for a few hours. 

In truth, she had considered sleeping in the cells at first rather than leaving Jahar’s side, but the prison had been crowded all night by a regular rotation of priests and nosy Guardians, and their hovering presence had eventually whittled away the last of her nerves. Just before she’d left, Seto had come down for his shift, and he’d regarded her with utter disdain the entire time she’d spent tending to her former mentor. She’d tried to ignore his judging eyes, but between the anger and the shame and the fatigue, it simply became too much to bear.

Predictably, Jahar had not woken even once through the night, and though Satiah had told the prison staff to fetch her immediately should his condition change, she was not surprised when no news came. Jahar’s  _ ba  _ had been utterly decimated in his battle against the God, and recovering from such a blow would have been a difficult task even for a young and resilient duelist. At first, she’d accepted the fact that it would be some time before he regained his strength, but as the hours wore on, Satiah began to worry that he might never wake up at all. 

The thought soon brought tears welling back into her already raw eyes, and anger quickly boiled up along with them. Satiah knew this anger should have been meant for her former mentor, whose unbidden vengeance had uprooted the seeds of peace she’d only just begun to sow. But as hot tears streamed down her face, only one memory flashed itself before Satiah’s eyes: That of her husband, his body wrapped in the wicked power of his Pendant — and the ruthlessness with which he’d given the order to kill a defenseless man. She still remembered how his eyes had flickered with sadistic pleasure as he awaited the God’s final blow — as if nothing but the utter destruction of his enemy would satisfy him.

Fearing this image might be burned forever in her mind, Satiah forced herself to open her eyes and suck in a deep breath. As she lifted her head to the shine of the sun, she found her gaze drawn toward a figure standing in the shadow of a nearby tree. Instantly, her sobs hissed to a stop when she met eyes with Mahad. His serious face was painted with worry, and within moments he was sweeping through the shady grove to where she sat.

“My queen,” he whispered, drawing to a stop before her, “is everything alright?”

Frantically, Satiah rubbed her eyes and steadied her quivering breaths. “I’m fine.”

“I crossed paths with your handmaiden on my way here,” Mahad went on, his voice low and cautious. “She was asking after you.” He hesitated. “Have you been here all night?”’

Satiah lowered her head shamefully, unable to muster a reply. 

Mahad stood silent for a long time, and Satiah could feel his eyes burning down through the top of her head. “You should return to the residence, my queen,” he said. “The Pharaoh is surely worried about you.”

Another flicker of anger lashed in her stomach, burning away what was left of her tears. She stole a scornful glance at the Guardian, but she saw in his warm eyes that his concern was genuine — untainted by the obsequiousness that often followed his colleagues. 

Slowly, she lifted her head back up. “Tell me, Mahad,” she said. “How long have you known the king?”

He looked taken aback for a moment, his brow rising. “Almost my whole life.”

“And in all those years, have you ever seen such wrath within him?”

He breathed deep. “No.”

Satiah smoothed her lips together, tasting the salt of new tears as they rolled down her cheeks. “I thought I knew him,” she hissed thinly. “I thought I had seen his heart—”

A sob choked out the last of her words, and she turned her head down to let her tears fall into the hot earth. With all the air gone from her lungs, her shoulders quivered silently, hands curling into fists on her knees.

Suddenly, Mahad turned and lowered himself down onto the bench beside her. He lifted one arm to fold her into a stiff embrace, and like a child, Satiah fell into him, smothering her tears into his white tunic. 

“What you have seen is the truth,” he said urgently, “for I have known it as well.” His low voice resonated through Satiah while tears continued to seize her. “I have watched him for many years. I have seen him grow and change. I have seen the people he has touched, and all the souls he has taken into his heart. They weigh on him. So many legacies live through him now. He  _ exists _ for them — sometimes  _ in spite _ of them.” He paused, and in the cool silence Satiah lifted her head to look into his eyes. “But when he is with you, he is only himself.”

Satiah’s anger turned suddenly inward, burning hot in her core and threatening to deepen her shameful tears. But just then, another flash of movement caught her eye, and she turned to see Seto emerging from the prison cellar nearby. He stopped, setting a patronizing gaze on them. Mahad quickly took note of his colleague’s presence as well. Clearing his throat, he released Satiah and stood, just as Seto began making his way over toward them.

Seto addressed Mahad as he arrived. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show for your shift.”

“Apologies, brother,” Mahad replied. “I’ll be along shortly.” He then turned to Satiah. “My queen, would you like Seto to escort you back to the residence?”

Satiah gritted her teeth and flicked her eyes toward Seto, who was looking perturbed at being volunteered for such a task. “I need no escort,” she snapped, standing with a huff. “Thank you, and good day to you both.”

With that, Satiah spun and dipped out of the grove, stalking toward the sun, in the hopes that Ra’s light would dry her tears.

* * *

A bittersweet melody swelled within the depths of the God’s shrine, but the notes died quickly in the still air, weighing almost as heavy as Atem’s heart. Across the chamber, Obelisk’s stone tablet stood tall, flanked on either side by roaring braziers. But Atem could not bring himself to look upon the God’s stony vessel, his gaze fallen instead to the floor before him, where his mother’s  _ ka _ was playing a sorrowful lament on her silver harp.

The Heavenly Muse kept a serene smile on her face, even as the notes she thrummed told a mournful story. Atem, sitting on the stairs just inside the shrine, hung his head low to watch her fingers moving deftly across the silky strings. The setting sun trickled down from the stairway above, casting his shadow over the spirit like a diffuse bruise. But she played on, smiling blithely as if she knew nothing of the guilt that thrashed in his soul.

After a long day of tending to his kingly duties, he’d told himself he had come to Obelisk’s shrine to be alone with his thoughts. But not more than a single solitary moment had passed before he’d summoned his mother’s  _ ka _ to keep him company. Even though he had been surrounded by people all day, he’d felt utterly alone since the moment he awoke to an empty bed that morning. 

In truth, Atem had wanted nothing more than to seek out his wife, but by the time the sun began its descent in the west, he hadn’t managed to build up the courage to do it. He feared what he’d see when he looked into her eyes — feared they would be filled with the same horror and despair as when she’d thrown herself at his feet in the shadow of the temple. His heart broke with shame, knowing he had no one to blame but himself for causing her such pain.

Suddenly, the slow echo of footsteps came from above. The Muse’s song cut to a halting stop as Atem stood and turned, his eyes lifting to meet Metjen’s, who stood on the landing above him. Metjen gave a sober smile and sank down a few more steps, leaving only three or four more between them.

“Such a haunting melody,” Metjen said, flicking his eyes over Atem’s shoulder. “You’d almost think someone had gone to meet Anubis.”

Atem lowered his head, then half-turned to the spirit behind him, waving a hand to disperse it back from whence it came. When he looked back, Metjen was lowering himself to sit on the stairs, linking his hands together between his knees. Coldly, he stared through the darkness at Obelisk’s tablet.

“It’s a wonder how something so brittle as stone can contain such might,” he said. “Do you think it resents its fate? To have been captured by its own disciples?”

Atem, too, trailed his gaze to the slab, remembering how raw and fierce it had felt to invoke the Sword of Horus. “I don’t know,” he said.

Metjen scoffed a laugh. “I know I should be  _ honored _ there seem to be so many people willing to take up my mantle. Still… Jahar was a fool to tempt a god’s fury.”

Atem looked back, his eyes widening in surprise.

“If only I’d known what I would set in motion when I stood against your father.” Metjen heaved a deep sigh. “As a parent, you tell yourself the only thing you want for your children is for them to be happy. But if that were the case, I never would have done what I did. I should have known Sati was only ever content to seek her own happiness.” His voice grew wistful as he spoke of his only daughter — the last of his kin. “Despite everything… I think she has found it in you.”

Atem felt his heart fluttering wild against his ribcage. Another memory of Satiah’s face flashed before his eyes, but there was no fear in it this time — only the scintillating glow of joy.

Metjen blinked, his eyes catching the shine of the sinking sun. “When I see the way you make her smile, I remember what that feeling was like.” His words wavered now, but he swallowed hard to steady himself. “There’s nothing else in this world that can compare to it — that companionship. That  _ bond. _ Once you have known a love like that, you’ll never be the same without it.”

Just then, Metjen stood and laid a hand heavy to Atem’s shoulder, sending uncanny waves of cold and warmth trickling down his spine. Though the shimmer of Metjen’s tears had grown thicker, he refused to let them fall.

“Don’t lose her, Atem,” he said, forsaking all formality in favor of paternal sincerity. “I promise you — there is no stone on this earth that can hold her.”

Without pause, Metjen turned and receded up the stairs, leaving Atem in deep and somatic solitude again.

* * *

When Satiah finally returned to the residence at the edge of night, she couldn’t decide whether or not she was relieved to find it empty.

The waning moon cast the bedchamber in new light, drawing stark shadows where there was once a familiar silver glow. As she made her way through the room, she traced her fingers lightly over the weathered edge of the table and stopped by the side of the bed, looking down into her shadow to see one fresh pillow — and one with a heavy indentation left in it. 

Looking at the dissonant sight caused her heart to grow even heavier. She turned in a circle, then took several long paces toward the window, angling her gaze up to the crescent moon. Her father used to say that when the moon was in its first quarter, Khonsu was smiling; when it was in its last, he was frowning — preparing for the moment when he would turn his back on the earth and leave it in darkness.

Satiah reached a hand out to steady herself against the window frame, leaning until her head was resting on the warped wood. She stared at the moon for many long moments, barely blinking — fearing that if she looked away — even for a moment — Khonsu might abandon her forever.

She let her eyes fall closed only at the sound of the door of the residence opening. She kept them closed, even as footsteps crept slowly up the stairs — even as a deep breath stole the chilled air from the room, replacing it with familiar warmth. Eventually, she turned her head, fluttering her eyes open, but she kept her husband only in the fringes of her vision — watching as the moonlight illuminated the white of his _shendyt,_ deepened the blue of his sash, caught the glimmer of his gold belt. She could feel him pulling for her gaze — begging, _pleading_ for her to look at him. But she did not.

Then, suddenly, he brought  _ himself  _ to her eyes.

He fell to his knees before her, his face upturned and filled with a thousand apologies. He stayed there for a long time, sunk down against his heels, hands hanging palm-up on his thighs — violet gaze building like a wave ready to crash upon her. 

And crash, he did.

Slowly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead into her waist and drawing in a long breath. Satiah stood staggered, her heart thrashing, trying to pretend she was indifferent to his contrition, when truly — she treasured it.

He turned and tucked his cheek against her, lifting one hand to press flat-palmed into her middle and nestling the other in the small of her back. Another breath seized him, rushing in and out from between his parted lips like hot wind in a sandstorm. 

“Forgive me,” he whispered — but the words braided together more like a question, as if he’d already prepared himself for every other reality.

Satiah lifted her own hands, resting one on his shoulder and the other on the crown of his head. She threaded her fingers into the lush blackness of his hair, holding him loosely while remorse smoldered through him.

When at last he pulled away, she layered her hands at the nape of his neck and turned his face up to hers. She searched the ebbing tide of his eyes for a long time before lowering her gaze to his chest, where the Millennium Pendant glinted harshly in the starlight. Slowly, she sank her hand down to cradle the heavy gold, weighing it in her palm.

“So many souls,” she whispered, staring deep into the pitted eye carved on the surface of the Pendant. “I need to know if there is still room enough for  _ me.” _

His chin tipped down, his brow lowering in solemn contemplation. Then, suddenly, he took her hand away from the Pendant, pressing her palm tight to the wild beating of his heart. Warmth washed over her as he lifted his eyes again. There was suddenly new life within them — no longer bereft from guilt.

“This—” He clutched her hand tight, his heart beating faster, “—belongs to  _ you.” _

Slowly, he rose up high on his knees, climbing his free hand until he was cradling her head, bringing her in for a worshipful kiss. He was firm, but gentle — every touch of his lips, every caress of his fingers a question. Satiah cherished the new sensations, knowing this was a man who was ready to fight now — and not just  _ against  _ things — the dark, the anger, the hate.

But  _ for  _ something.

* * *

As daylight rose over Memphis, it was Satiah who now awoke to an empty bed. Had her heart still been heavy, she might have allowed herself to wallow in self-pity for a while, but a night of renewed affections and restful sleep had left her spirit feeling infinitely lightened. Swiftly, she rose and dressed herself, deciding she would take it upon herself to seek the warmth that had been missing from her bed since before dawn.

With the sun at her back, she trudged the well-worn path up the hill to the Temple of Sekhmet, feeling instinct calling her to the pavilion. Sure enough, as she came to the edge of it, she peered around a column to see her husband sitting at the far end of the table. He took a sip of tea while reading from a long papyrus stretched out in front of him; Satiah felt an unbidden smile come to her lips as she watched his eyes dancing across the page. She would have been content to watch him for hours, had she not felt such a strong desire to be nearer to his radiance. So, she stepped out from behind the pillar and strode under the canopy of linens. Atem was quick to look up from his work, and his face, too, broke with a peaceful smile — though he said nothing as she drew near. 

Satiah lowered herself into the seat beside him; almost instantly, a servant girl came out from the shadows with a cup and pitcher in hand. She curtseyed, then set the cup down and filled it with tea from the carafe before receding back to the edge of the pavilion to wait with her fellow servants. Satiah squared herself to the table, seeing out of the corner of her eye that Atem had resumed his reading of the papyrus in front of him — a ledger of grain stocks across the region. 

Sighing, Satiah rested her arms on the table, then took her cup and brought it to her lips. As she sipped, she felt a hand falling over where her other one still rested on the surface of the table before her. She quickly lowered her cup, nearly spilling the hot liquid into her lap as she cast her husband a sidelong glance. He didn’t look at her until he’d reached the end of the line he was reading, but when he did, his eyes had a dreamy and knowing glimmer to them. He squeezed her hand, and she felt a slight blush coming to her cheeks as she recalled the sweet intimacies they had rekindled the night before.

Her blush only deepened when a new presence entered the pavilion, disturbing their blissful silence. Withdrawing her hand to her lap, she turned to see Seto striding down the length of the table, looking tenacious as ever. Atem took a deep breath and lowered the papyrus back to the table.

Seto gave a brief bow of his head as he came to stand before his king. “Pharaoh,” he said, “I’m sorry to disturb you. I was just on my way to serve my shift guarding the prisoner.”

Satiah fought hard to keep her teeth from grinding audibly, but she was surprised to see Atem looking a bit impatient as well.

Seto cleared his throat and continued. “I must once again implore you to consider my earlier request…” He trailed off, flicking his eyes to Satiah briefly. “To extract and seal the criminal’s  _ ka _ .”

Atem leaned back in his chair. “I thought I made myself clear on this matter,” he said — to Satiah’s surprise once again.

Seto drew himself up defensively. “My king — this man has already proven himself extremely hostile,” he declared. “If he should ever awaken, he could very well turn violent once again—”

_ “When _ Jahar awakens,” Atem interrupted, “we will need him to cooperate with us so that we can properly treat with the rest of his followers. If we were to take his  _ ka _ , we would jeopardize any hope of securing their loyalty.”

“But, Pharaoh—”

Atem exhaled sharply. “I grow tired of having my judgment questioned at every juncture,” he said loudly, causing even Satiah to sit up straighter. “Jahar’s  _ ka _ will not be touched, and I will hear no more of it. Am I understood?”

Seto did not reply at first, and Satiah felt a satisfying surge of vindication to watch him stewing uncomfortably for a while. But before he could acquiesce to his king’s decree, the silence was once again broken by more footsteps. Satiah turned to see a guardsman trotting out onto the pavilion, huffing with labored breaths as he came to kneel before them.

“My queen,” the guard wheezed, sending a bolt of fear down her spine. “The prisoner has awoken.”

...

The rushed journey back to the villa passed in a blur. Satiah barely even noticed the fact that Atem and Seto were trailing after her, both of them still smoldering from their earlier disagreement. It wasn’t until they’d reached the entrance to the prison cellar that Satiah finally stopped and turned to face them, her wide eyes darting from Seto to settle squarely on her husband. He stepped forward and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Take as long as you need,” he said, quiet enough so Seto was unlikely to hear. “I’ll be just outside.”

Satiah gave him a gallant nod, then turned back to the darkened stairway. She descended into the shadows, hurrying down the rows of cells to the back of the prison, where Jahar was being held. At the end of the hall, Mahad was standing with his back turned to Satiah. He looked behind at the sound of her footsteps, offering a solemn smile as she came within reach. With a respectful dip of his head, he stepped forward and unlocked Jahar’s cell, then turned and swept out of the prison to give her some privacy.

Breathing deeply, Satiah strode headlong into the cell, squinting through the darkness to where a crumpled shadow lay on a low cot along the wall. At her presence, the shadow stirred, and Jahar’s face was soon illuminated by the weak torchlight — gaunt and white as a ghost.

“Sati?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “That you?”

Satiah bit back tears and swept forward, sinking to her knees beside the cot and taking his hand in hers. It was cold and trembling, but he gripped her fingers fiercely as he struggled to sit up.

“Don’t,” she said, pressing on his shoulder with her free hand. “Save your strength.”

“Save it for whom?” he grunted. “I’m not expecting many other visitors, if that’s what you mean.”

Satiah choked out a laugh, her nose wrinkling to keep her tears at bay.

Jahar smiled, and the lines in his face grew even deeper. He clutched her hand, bringing it to his heart. “I still have my  _ ka _ ,” he said, half a statement, half a question.

Satiah nodded.

“I suppose the Pharaoh wished to wait until I was  _ conscious _ before harvesting my soul,” he muttered with venom.

Satiah gave a quick shake of her head. “He intends to let you keep it.”

Jahar furrowed his bare brow, turning to stare deeply into her eyes. “Oh?” he said incredulously. “And what does he want in return for such clemency?”

Still fighting the sting of tears, Satiah gripped lightly to the front of his robe. “Peace,” she said.

Jahar looked away, pulling in a ragged breath that swelled his hollow chest. “It seems your royal husband is full of surprises.”

“Please, Jahar…” Satiah hissed, her voice thinned by encroaching tears. “No more fighting. No more bloodshed.”

He turned back, his eyes glinting like scarabs in the firelight. “Begging does not suit you, Sati,” he said. “And neither do these tears.” He reached out and brushed a rough thumb beneath her eye, swiping away the wetness before it could fall. “Do not weep for me, child. I fought, and I lost. I feel no shame — nor do I need you to feel it for me.” When he took his hand away, he folded it over where hers still rested on his chest, cradling it close to him. “I taught you to follow strength.  _ Only _ strength. It is no longer my place to tell you where to seek it.”

Satiah swallowed down her sorrow, but her heart still ached for her former mentor. 

He averted his gaze to watch the torch flickering on the wall above. “Did the gods truly speak to him?”

Satiah waited until he found her eyes again, then gave one firm nod.

“Then I suppose that makes  _ me _ the heretic,” he said, exhaling a stuttering chuckle. Satiah forced herself to laugh with him, two thin tears escaping along with it. Slowly, he took her hand away from his heart, lifting it to his lips to kiss her fingers. “He may be king by blood,” Jahar said. “But it was the gods’ will who made you his queen. Never let him forget that.”


	36. Glass

A day turned to a week as Jahar slowly recovered from his injuries, though he had yet to walk more than a few steps around his cell before weakness would take him again. The Guardians continued to hover, with Seto looking particularly anxious during his shifts. But Satiah knew even if Jahar did ever manage to summon his  _ ka  _ again, his dueling days were most likely behind him. She tried not to let this make her morose — Jahar had lived a long and fulfilling life, and he’d won many more battles than he’d lost. Still, it seemed odd to even think that the man who had taught her everything she knew about magic might never again wield it himself.

As the days wore on, Atem and Jahar eased themselves into negotiations with one another. Predictably, little progress was being made, with Jahar stubbornly refusing to talk about his followers’ chain of command, and Atem hesitant to offer much in the way of pardons. But it gave Satiah hope to see the two men speaking on equal footing, if only for a few brief moments each day.

With things slowly returning to normal, Satiah resumed her work translating the Millennium Tome. The second spell of the Holy Gods was soon fully transcribed — this one titled “Ode to Osiris, Protector of the Heavens.” Like Obelisk’s spell, it was to be cast over Khafra’s sarcophagus — this time at sundown after the new moon. 

But when the day finally arrived for them to make the journey to Giza once again, Satiah began to feel a haze of dread at the thought of descending into the second pyramid. After a night of tossing and turning, she awoke in the late morning with her stomach tying itself into nervous knots. 

Atem was already gone again — likely coordinating last-minute preparations for their journey. In solitude, Satiah’s mind raced with thoughts of what challenges they might face within Khafra’s tomb — and what fearsome shape the Protector of the Heavens might take.

At the sound of the door to the residence opening, Satiah snapped out of her reverie and forced herself to sit up in bed. She wrapped an arm around her roiling stomach, expecting to see Tuya making her way up the stairs, but thoroughly surprised when her husband took shape in the doorway instead. He paused on the threshold, fighting a mirthful smile before making his way further into the room. Satiah couldn’t help but smile back, and as he came to stand over the side of the bed, she noticed one of his hands was tucked behind his back.

“Good morning, my queen,” he said, leaning over to place a kiss on her forehead.

Satiah tilted her chin up, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “You’re looking rather cheerful.”

“That’s because it’s a special occasion,” he said, leaning up. Then, in a flash, he whipped his hand out from behind his back, revealing a beautiful bouquet of blue lotus blossoms, wrapped in a yellow silk ribbon and framed with bulbs of safflower, just beginning to bloom. “A little bird told me you turn twenty-two years old today.”

An unbidden sob hitched in Satiah’s throat, and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth as tears welled into her eyes.

Atem’s smile fell. Looking panicked, he dropped the bouquet to the bed and sat down to take her quivering shoulders in his hands. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Was it something I said?”

Still muffling sobs into her hand, Satiah shook her head wildly, tears squeezing out and gathering along her fingers. Atem clicked his tongue, then reached out and pulled her close. She wrapped herself around him, pressing her wet face into his shoulder.

“Come now,” he said, stroking her hair. “No more tears.”

But Satiah only sobbed harder at all the nostalgic feelings suddenly circling in her heart. Birthdays weren’t a common tradition, even amongst nobility, but Satiah’s father had always sought to make them a special day for his children when they were growing up. He’d have the cooks prepare one of their favorite meals, or charter a vessel to sail the Nile for the day. And for Satiah, her father and brother would always build a bouquet of blue lotuses to give her when she first woke up.

But this birthday was different. It was the first birthday of her marriage. The first birthday of her queenhood. Her first birthday without Metka. And she hadn’t even realized it was coming.

Atem quietly hushed her while her sobs tapered off. When at last her shoulders settled, she pulled back a bit, wiping her cheeks hard to rid them of the salty trails her tears had left. 

Still lightly caressing her arms, Atem smiled again. “I know I’m no florist,” he said, reaching over to take up the bouquet. “But they can’t be  _ that _ bad, can they?”

Satiah choked out a laugh and took the flowers, holding them close to let their fragrant scent envelop her. “They’re perfect.”

* * *

The entire ride to Giza, Satiah’s stomach continued to thrash and stir. She couldn’t fathom why she was so nervous; ahead of their descent into Menkaura’s tomb, she remembered feeling nothing but conviction — even bordering on excitement. But between witnessing Obelisk’s strength firsthand, and then watching that strength be wielded against her beloved mentor, Satiah’s nerves had been thoroughly frayed.

With a deep sigh, she lifted a hand from her horse’s reins and ran her fingers along the nape of her neck, where Tuya had braided one of Atem’s lotus blossoms into her hair. Touching the silky petals helped to settle her thoughts a bit, and she allowed herself a small smile when she turned to see her husband watching her. He smiled back, his crown glinting red-hot in the sinking sun.

After navigating steep dunes and rock-cut mastabas, they soon arrived at the foot of the second pyramid. Like his son’s, the entrance to Khafra’s tomb was cut into the structure’s north face. With Ra’s eye now drifting toward the horizon, the pyramid’s shadow grew sharply eastward, reaching for the banks of the Nile like a long, pointed finger.

After bidding goodbye to the convoy and the Guardians, Atem and Satiah once again descended into the dark unknown. Satiah pulled her cloak tight around her to stave off the chill that followed them all the way to the entrance of Khafra’s burial chamber. Together, they crossed the threshold, Atem’s torch carving red light along the angled roof and rigid walls. At the back of the chamber, the Son’s sarcophagus took shape, set several feet into the floor and surrounded by thick granite slabs. As they came to stand above it, Atem set his torch down on one of the slabs, helping to illuminate the weathered stone. With a reverent pause, he turned his palms up to the ceiling and closed his eyes in preparation to utter the spell that would take them to meet the God of the Underworld.

“‘Wise Osiris,’” he said, “‘protector of the heavens and chaperone of souls — your ka circles the world and leads the virtuous to splendor. Gift unto us its Thundering valor, and let us not fall to the temptations of sin.’”

Satiah held her breath tight in her lungs, waiting for the familiar rushing sensation to take her. 

When it did, she was still not prepared. 

The chamber bled away into nothingness, sending her plummeting through melting dimensions of light and shadow. She tumbled, breathless — reaching for something to anchor herself to, but found nothing until a sparkling plane surged up from below. Swinging her momentum around, she just barely managed to get her feet beneath her before she collided with this new surface, only to find herself falling several inches  _ through  _ it — where she splashed down to her hands and knees, surrounded by ankle-deep water.

Sucking in a deep breath, Satiah scrambled to her feet, just in time to hear another splash nearby. She spun to see Atem lying flat on his back several feet behind her. She rushed over to him, dropping to her knees to help him sit up.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

He shook his head, then pushed himself to his feet, taking her up with him. “What is this place?”

Satiah cast her eyes around the dreamscape in which they’d landed. Beneath their feet, the glassy water stretched out like a single, unbroken sheet of obsidian, and even though she knew it was only as deep as her ankles, she could not see the floor below. All around them, countless hypostyle pillars grew up from the water, standing in perfectly equal rows as far as the eye could see. The columns diffused into a dark void overhead, though it seemed as if the blackness were  _ moving _ in some spots — twisting and flowing like a gentle current. As Satiah looked closer, she realized the void was actually blanketed in rivers of sand — snaking around the pillars and braiding together to form a large stream above.

Satiah glanced at Atem, who looked back at her as if he had the same urge as she did — to follow the river deeper into the darkness before them. He was first to set off, his footsteps trickling lightly through the water as he walked. Satiah followed him, keeping her eyes turned up to the mass of sand ebbing overhead. Even in the shifting desert dunes, Satiah had never seen sand move like this. The uncanniness of it set her teeth on edge.

Slowly, they wove in and out between the massive columns, following only the largest river, into which many dozens of tributaries seemed to feed. In this surreal landscape, Satiah had no frame of reference to tell whether or not they were going in circles, but she knew somehow the God’s will was pulling them to where they needed to go — as only it could.

After walking for what could have been moments or hours or days, the pillars finally opened to a vast, empty clearing, vaguely circular in shape. Several more rivers of sand flowed out from the surrounding columns to converge in the very center of the clearing. There, the sand cascaded down toward the floor, gathering in a shallow, swirling vortex that sat just above the water’s surface.

Again, Satiah looked to her husband, and again, his eyes were filled with wonder. He turned toward the center of the room and immediately set off for it, Satiah trailing behind. They stopped before the rushing torrent of sand, which seemed infinitely larger up close. The sound, too, was deep and thunderous — like a thousand voices, crying out together in want. It was so loud, Satiah almost missed a new noise rattling up from below. By the time she felt and saw the ripples of water around her ankles, it was too late — a streak of red suddenly shot up through the middle of the sandy vortex, sending sharp grains flying off to rain over Atem and Satiah. Both shielded their heads and fell back several paces, gazing in terror at the looming figure that now curled itself around the cascade of sand.

Immediately, Satiah thought of a snake: thin, slithering body; scales writhing like fire — but along its red-and-black trunk, two sets of clawed hands took shape. Above the foremost set soon unfurled a pair of huge, bat-like wings, which the creature stretched outward, forming a shield against the rushing sand, allowing it to rear its massive head through the new void.

Yellow eyes, shimmering like citrine, pierced Satiah’s soul. And then — teeth — dozens and dozens of glinting white fangs, set in along not one, but  _ two  _ sets of jaws. First, the creature parted its lower jaw to let out a fierce cry. Then, its second jaw opened, gathering blinding blue light within the misting cavern of its mouth.

Satiah felt a hand grip around her arm as Atem jerked her backward, out of range of the God’s attack. She stumbled after him, looking over her shoulder just in time to see the blue light streaking outward, striking the floor where they’d stood only moments before. Surprisingly, the attack brought with it no heat or destruction — in fact, it barely disturbed the water on the floor of the clearing. Upon seeing this, Satiah leaned her weight backward to stop Atem’s flight as well. They both turned, and Satiah could just barely see a small form taking shape in the shadow of the creature. Atem stepped forward, eyes squinted, and in the sudden silence, Satiah heard him let out a soft, sonorous gasp.

“…Meriti?

Satiah felt her heart falling through her core as she, too, set eyes on the child who now stood between them and the God. She recognized him immediately — his mother’s deep skin, his father’s golden hair threaded through his braided sidelock — but whether he was truly flesh and bone, or if this was just some illusion summoned by Osiris, Satiah could not tell.

Atem took two meek steps forward, though the boy had yet to raise his eyes from the floor of the chamber. “Meriti,” Atem repeated, raising a hand to cover his heart. “It’s me. It’s your uncle.”

Another step, and finally the child raised his gaze.

Satiah nearly let out a gasp of her own at the sight: hollow, blackened eyes — deep, endless pits, swirling with stars.

“Uncle Atem?” Meriti said, his voice low and twisted, as if the very God who had summoned him were speaking through him.

Atem nodded his head eagerly, and even in the dark, Satiah could see tears shining at the corners of his eyes.

Meriti lifted his head further, casting his nebulous gaze around the room. “Why am I here?” he asked.

A shallow inhale hitched in Atem’s throat. “Meriti—”

“Why can’t I see Mama anymore?”

Atem released his stolen breath, heavy and laden with guilt. He took another step, but he was brought to a standstill as Meriti suddenly raised his hands before his face.

_ “Stay back!” _ Meriti shouted. A dull glow surrounded the boy, followed by a trilling cry and a flash of light. A tiny creature then took shape before Meriti — a small sphere of brown fur, sprouting green hands and feet beset with razor-sharp claws. Its yellow eyes glared angrily out from beneath its shaggy mane.

Instinctively, Satiah moved up so she was standing side by side with her husband. But while she glared defensively at the creature before them, Atem’s gaze was still filled with tenderness.

“Who is this, Meriti?” Atem asked.

Meriti lowered his hands, revealing his empty eyes again. He turned his head, looking briefly over his shoulder at the God which still curled itself around the pillar of sand rushing down from the center of the room.

“Papo says this is my  _ ka _ ,” Meriti said, looking back at them. “He says … he says I have to  _ fight _ you.”

Atem’s eyes went wide, revealing more tears brimming along his dark lashes. He waded a few steps further. “Meriti,  _ please—” _

“Go, Kuriboh!”

Another eager warble took the air, and the ball of brown fur began streaking across the arena. Satiah saw Atem flinch and move to raise his hand, but he faltered — frozen by fear or guilt or both.

Satiah reached up, her skin bristling with the warmth of magic, and the chamber was soon washed in a blinding flash. Before her, Atem’s silhouette grew blacker than night, and a moment later she felt a dull sting of pain in her middle. But as the light faded, relief took her to see that both her husband and her  _ ka  _ appeared unharmed. Behind the Maiden’s broad shield, a cloud of smoke billowed darkly; when it dissipated, Meriti’s spirit was gone.

Then, the Shieldmaiden staggered a step, nearly brought to her knees, and Satiah remembered the flash of pain she’d felt a moment before. As the spirit lowered her shield, Satiah saw it — a long, thin crack, spidering out across the surface of the shaped bronze. Meriti’s  _ ka _ must have self-destructed on contact with the shield, dealing a hefty amount of damage.

Bereft of his spirit, Meriti crumpled to his knees, crying out in pain.

Atem made a move to race forward, but Satiah quickly ordered her  _ ka  _ to block his path. The Shieldmaiden enveloped him between her shield and spear.

“No!” Atem cried, beating his fists against the shield. “Forgive me, Meriti! Know that you are loved! So loved—!”

But the boy’s body soon faded into a wisp of dust, rising up like a sandspout to be gathered in with the flowing stream above.

When Meriti was gone, the only thing Satiah could hear was the labored, tear-filled breaths of her husband. The Shieldmaiden stepped back, allowing him space for his grief.

Then — Osiris reared its head again. Its upper jaws parted once more to gather blue light and send it streaking across the clearing. Satiah shielded her eyes from the blinding flash that followed, only to feel them widen as another familiar form took shape beneath the God’s shadow.

Tall, proud, and filled with bitter resentment — the former crown prince lifted his blackened eyes to gaze upon his brother.

“Tef,” Atem breathed.

But only silence followed the name, and suddenly, Tefnak turned his head to look upon Satiah.  _ “You.” _

He raised his hand, pointing accusingly, and yet another streak of magic swallowed the clearing. In its wake, the crown prince’s  _ ka _ materialized. Touching down to the floor of the chamber, the Tomb Guardian straightened and brandished its enormous hammer, its nostrils flaring with rage.

Atem called out again, but not even his urgent voice could reach this dark shadow of his brother. The crown prince thrust his arm out to his  _ ka _ , sending it instantly into motion. Satiah fell back a step, urging her Shieldmaiden into a defensive stance. And not a moment too soon — the Tomb Guardian crashed upon her  _ ka _ like a sandstorm, slamming its hammer into the Maiden’s shield with all its force. Bravely, she held the creature at bay, but Satiah could see and sense and feel her spirit’s fear — growing like the crack that spread further across her shield with each beating of the Guardian’s hammer.

Gritting her teeth, Satiah continued to fall backward in step with her  _ ka _ , her eyes flashing through the darkness to see her husband standing frozen in terror behind the fray.

_ Crash! _ — another fall of the hammer —  _ crash!  _ — another chink in her spirit’s armor —  _ crash! _ — another lash of pain through Satiah’s heart.

_ Crash! _

“Atem!”

All at once, her husband came surging back to the present moment, and he reached up to the blackness above. Satiah heard a crack like a thunderbolt, and the Tomb Guardian was brought to a sudden, staggering halt. Steadying herself, she looked up to see a thread of black wrapped around the Guardian’s hammer — and across the arena, Atem’s Magician held tight to the other end of its whip.

Fists clenched, Atem looked to his brother. “Please, Tef!” he pleaded. “Stop this madness!”

_ “She _ did this!” Tefnak shouted back. “This is  _ her _ fault!”

Even from this distance, Satiah could see doubt seizing her husband. “Atem!” she cried. “Don’t listen to him! Look at me!”

“If it weren’t for her, I’d still be alive—”

“—Atem—”

“ _ —Meriti _ would still be alive—”

“— _ Look at me _ , my love!”

Finally, his violet eyes fell to her. But in a moment, he sealed them shut, gritting his teeth and growling out his anger and turmoil. His  _ ka _ responded in kind, pulling hard on the handle of the whip until the Guardian toppled backward and splashed to the floor.

_ “Do it!” _ Atem shouted.

Satiah swept her arm out to her  _ ka _ , sending the Shieldmaiden instantly on the offensive. She dashed beside the downed Guardian, kicked herself into the air, and thrust her spear down to impale the fell creature through its abdomen.

More light, more chaos, more howls of pain. Across the arena, the crown prince fell to his knees, his nebulous gaze once again turned toward his brother. This time, Atem was wise enough not to chase the winnowing spirit — or perhaps too ashamed to. He watched, wide-eyed, as Tefnak faded into a swirl of sand, rising up to join his departed son.

Satiah, too, was left afflicted by what she’d been forced to do, so much so that she almost didn’t notice the God rearing its head again. Soon came another quiet flash of blue light, and before it even cleared, Satiah knew who Osiris had summoned to serve it next.

Through the thick dark, father and son gazed at one another with longing in their eyes. But words failed both men. Both  _ kings _ . Nothing — not a single word seemed fit to bridge the rift that was soon to split between them.

Aknamkanon wasted not a moment forging it. He raised a hand and summoned forth his  _ ka _ — the calm and cunning Wise Sphinx. Golden mask glinting, thin tail flickering, it touched lightly down to the floor of the chamber, sending wide ripples out to lash against their ankles. Satiah kept her eyes trained intently on Atem, looking for any sign of doubt that might leave him open to attack. But he had since braced himself, shoulders drawn up, fists still curled and quivering — fighting more  _ pain _ than fear.

Slowly, he turned his head up to the heavens, his lips parting to release a withering sigh. “I know it’s not you,” he whispered. With the space between them, Satiah barely heard it. “I know you’d never fight again. I know you are … at peace.” 

When he dropped his head, there was new conviction in his eyes. He reached out to his  _ ka _ , and the shadow of his father mirrored the motion. Satiah shrank back when she saw the Sphinx lift a hand to its golden mask, knowing the brutal assault to her senses that would soon follow.

What came was anything but. A warm, silvery glow filled the chamber, bringing with it a divine melody Satiah once thought only conceivable in dreams. Through squinted eyes, she saw the composer of this tune taking shape: the Heavenly Muse materialized between the two kings, running her fingers deftly across the strings of her sweeping silver harp.

The melody she thrummed, beautiful as it was to Satiah’s senses, sent violent waves thrashing across the water’s surface. In the shadow of the God, the Wise Sphinx and its master reeled as if the benevolent song was torture to their ears. Aknamkanon wrapped his arms up around his head, his mouth parting in a silent scream. But bravely, Atem kept his hand outstretched to his mother’s  _ ka.  _ The Muse plucked another set of silky notes, causing the Sphinx to crack and crumble like a pane of brittle glass. A moment later, it burst into a million shimmering pieces, raining down to sink beneath the black abyss below.

Its dark master came crashing down after it, splashing to his knees with his arms wrapped around himself in a quiet shiver. Aknamkanon’s eyes gave off a starry glint as he turned them up to his son — glaring bitterly in an attempt to drive one last stake of guilt into his heart. But as Satiah swept her gaze across the clearing, she saw Atem had since dropped his chin down against his chest — no longer willing or able to watch as another shadow of his kin turned to dust.

When the last wisp of the former Pharaoh had risen up to join the torrent of sand overhead, Satiah fell back and prepared herself for another summoning from the God. And while the great Protector of the Heavens did rear up once again, its upper mouth did not part. Rather it released a scathing cry, beat its hellish wings, and twisted its great, writhing body before diving back down into the vortex of sand from whence it came.

Satiah’s ears, bereft of the God’s voice and the Muse’s song, were now flooded with new, visceral sounds — her ragged breathing, hot blood rushing through her head and neck. Had they truly conquered the  _ ka  _ of Osiris, without even inflicting so much as a scratch on its hide? Though her own doubts had rooted her to the spot, she found herself pulled forward at the sight of Atem moving in her periphery. His head still downcast, he set off for the sandfall in the center of the clearing, passing through and dispersing his mother’s  _ ka _ on the way.

“Atem,” Satiah said softly, but he did not falter. He came to stand before the river of sand, his head finally lifting in muted awe. Again, Satiah called for him, taking several hesitant steps in his direction, enough for her to see him lifting his hand and reaching toward the rushing cascade before him.

She could hear it — the scintillating sound made by the grains of sand passing through his fingers and pooling in his palm. It hypnotized her to stillness again, even as the chamber rumbled with the threat of a new danger. 

Suddenly, the vortex of sand at Atem’s feet began to twist and rise — growing all at once into a crystalline wall that wrapped around him, encasing him in a sheer, glimmering basin. The glass continued to climb upward, bending in at the middle before opening up to a similar oval shape above him: an hourglass, into which the rushing sand soon began to gather, filtering to a slow trickle that rained down into the lower basin, where Atem now stood trapped.

He turned to her, eyes shining like two stars in the dark, and raised his hands to press them into the wall. His mouth parted, and Satiah knew he was calling her name, but it was swallowed by his shimmering prison, turned to nothing but mist against the glass.

Satiah surged forward, but found herself brought to a halt as another flash of red streaked up from behind Atem. Osiris let loose a shrieking cry, then encircled the hourglass with its long, slithering body, wrapping its foreclaws around the lower basin and leveling its head directly at Satiah.

Thrown into the God’s mighty shadow, Satiah could only bring herself to stagger backward a few steps before Osiris parted its upper jaws once more. She stared into its cavernous mouth, frozen with horror as a blue glow gathered on its tongue and flew out to strike the ground before her.

Satiah reeled — unready, unwilling to gaze upon the servant Osiris had summoned. But her other senses fed the vision directly to her mind’s eye: the subtle fragrance of lotus blossoms, the whispered lilt of a laugh, the thin tweak of a bowstring being pulled taut. At this, Satiah finally lifted her head, finding her vision first filled with the blue-green glow of a familiar  _ ka _ , then the warm, rich hazel of her brother’s eyes.

His  _ true _ eyes.

Not shrouded in darkness as the three who came before him. He smiled — even  _ that _ was true — and his teeth flashed the same pearlescent white as the arrowhead pointed directly at her  _ ka.  _ Satiah flicked her eyes to her brother’s spirit — the Defender’s arm was beginning to quake from holding the bow string at full extension. Looking at it caused her vision to grow long and spinning — crowded with spirit and spectre and God and… 

And her husband.

The glass of Atem’s prison bowed and bent with each pound of his fists — the sand in the basin piling up toward his knees now.

Another laugh brought Satiah’s eyes back to her brother. He, too, was looking over his shoulder at the hourglass, and when he turned back around fully, he wore a smirk of vindication. Slowly, he lifted his hand toward his spirit, and Satiah felt as if her very  _ heart _ had turned to glass.

“Metka—”

The sound of the arrow streaking across the chamber was loud — and louder still when it connected squarely with the Maiden’s shield. Satiah gasped to see the arrowhead had pierced the thick bronze where the earlier crack had begun to form. The Defender of Nefertem wasted not a moment nocking another arrow and drawing it back. Satiah lifted her arm, directing her  _ ka _ to keep her shield raised.

_ Bang!  _ Another direct hit, this one following the upper line of the crack.

The Defender drew his bow again, and Satiah fell back a step, her  _ ka _ following suit.

_ Bang! _ A third arrow struck between the two already protruding from the shield.

“Metka,  _ please!”  _ Her voice sounded far in her own ears — muted like the cries of her husband, choked by gallons of sand now climbing toward his waist.

_ Bang! Bang!  _ A fourth and fifth, and the Shieldmaiden was backpedaling now, her black eyes sealed shut.

Satiah felt her own vision narrowing to pinpoints, catching only the shine of arrowheads sailing across the chamber. Soon, the Maiden’s shield was awash with them, sprouting arrows like weeds. Another loud  _ bang,  _ followed by two splashes, and Satiah suddenly felt herself falling, her gaze drowned in the yawning blackness overhead until she reflexively blinked back drops of water dousing her face. Reawakened by the cold deluge, she forced herself to sit up, sweeping her eyes over her  _ ka _ , now doubled over and heaving with breaths as labored as her own. On either side of the Maiden, two jagged pieces of her shield lay floating on the water’s surface — split down the middle like quarried limestone.

Across the chamber, Metka reached out to his  _ ka _ . The Defender obediently pulled the last arrow from its quiver, and Satiah trembled while the spirit nocked and drew its bow. Through the space between the arch and string, she glimpsed her husband once more — now neck-deep in shimmering sand and cradled in the claws of a God.

Then came a twang of string, a brush of feathers, a hiss of air — a cry so keening it could have been a death wail.

And  _ music.  _

A familiar holy melody filled the chamber once again, and Satiah’s eyes went wide to see the Heavenly Muse taking shape between the two warring spirits. The soundwaves made by her silver harp sliced through the air, knocking the last of the Defender’s arrows off its mark and sending it harmlessly into the water at the Shieldmaiden’s feet.

The Muse’s song faded instantly to a whisper. She turned her head over her shoulder, blessing Satiah with an encouraging smile before letting herself fade back into the darkness like a snuffed flame.

With renewed vigor, Satiah surged to her feet and thrust her hand out to her  _ ka.  _ The Shieldmaiden rallied and lifted her spear, shifting her grip to a javelin hold. The spirit took three long strides and put all her body weight behind the spear, loosing it like a lightning bolt through black night. The spear first pierced the Defender, then her brother — turning them both to dust in an instant — before sailing on to strike the heart of the God.

With a pealing roar, light rained down upon Satiah like a million falling stars, and she fell with them — down through more morphing, melding worlds, until her body landed flat against cool stones. The gabled ceiling of Khafra’s tomb grew overhead, and she found herself momentarily perplexed by its irregularities — as if she had forgotten that it was possible for anything in this world to be so  _ imperfect. _

It was only when a rattling, life-giving breath filled her lungs that she remembered: imperfection  _ was _ reality — that  _ this _ was the only truth she knew. She sat bolt upright and threw her gaze frantically around the chamber, finding a limp mass curled beside the sarcophagus nearby. She rolled over and scrambled toward it on all fours, laying her hands on it and finding her heart hammering to life as it moved beneath her touch. With a dry cough, Atem drew his arms up beneath him and pushed himself to his side, gazing weakly up at her through the dark. Sand still dusted his hair and pooled in the folds of his cloak, but his breaths were full and true.

Seized with guilt, Satiah drew him against her, sobbing wretchedly into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she wailed.  _ “I’m so sorry.” _

Just then, a streak of blue fell down past her cheek, swirling lazily to the floor of the burial chamber. Through her tears, she saw it take shape — the once-immaculate lotus blossom her husband had given her not hours before.

Now — dead.

* * *

**AN:** Phew! Another chonky chapter. These action sequences always turn out much longer than I plan… But hopefully you enjoy them regardless! Thanks so much for reading, and I can’t wait to see you in the next chapter!


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, many apologies for the long absence. I won’t bore you with the details, but as I get closer and closer to the end of this fic, I’ve started to get really sad. This is one of my most favorite pieces of fiction I’ve ever written — and one of the very few fics I’ve ever come close to finishing. It’s almost too real to think that it might be over soon. I thought, maybe if I held back on some updates, it might make me feel a bit better about the journey coming to an end. But I realize now that was the wrong way to approach it. So, for the remainder of the fic I’m returning to bi-weekly updates, as a way to push myself to go all the way with this thing!
> 
> Simultaneously, I’m going to go back and edit/reupload almost every chapter in this fic. Most of the earlier arcs were written in such rapid succession that I don’t feel they’re as perfect as they deserve to be. Rest assured that nothing about the narrative will fundamentally change as a result of these edits. There will be a few new scenarios to explore, and some that I’ve cut out. But everything ultimately funnels into where we are right here. The edits are just to create a more enjoyable experience for new readers, and for anyone who wants to go back and read it from the beginning.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for coming along with me on this amazing journey, and for gracing this fic with 1,000 hits as of today! I’m truly humbled by your readership. It means the world to me, and I hope you enjoy the final arc of this story as much as I have loved and labored to bring it to life.

Half-clothed and seated on the edge of the bathhouse spa, Atem watched the way the ripples of water radiated from around his legs, sliding across the steaming surface to lap at Satiah’s back. She was sitting neck-deep in the water before him, her knees drawn up to her chest. Through the distorted reflection, he could see the distance drawn into her deep-set eyes. Her mind was gone — left wandering somewhere between the planes of gods and men.

Her stare had been long and empty since the moment they emerged into the shadow of Khafra’s pyramid. Nothing seemed able to break this trance that was gripping her — not even the warm embrace her father had wrapped her in upon their return to the villa. In their bedchamber, Atem had tried to speak with her — had sat her on their bed and cradled her in his arms, whispering his love and devotion to her. But none of it — not a single word had reached her.

Even now, as he reached out to pull her wet hair over her shoulders, she barely registered his touch. With a deep breath, he took up a pitcher of washing oils from the side of the spa. “Lift your head,” he said, soft as he could manage. She swayed a bit, her head lolling backward. Gently, he slipped his fingers beneath her chin and lifted it the rest of the way, then raised the pitcher to pour the oils over her head, careful not to let them drip down into her eyes. After combing his fingers through her hair a moment, he repeated the process with a pitcher of water.

He let steam and silence envelop them again — busied himself wringing out her hair and taking up a cloth to cleanse whatever skin he could reach. He was in the middle of wiping away a patch of dirt on her shoulder when she sucked in a deep breath. The sharpness of it caused him to pull back with a start, fearing he’d hurt her somehow. But she simply blinked, her knees sliding out of her grasp to lay flat against the seat beneath her. Slowly, she lifted her hands up, holding pools of water in her palms for a moment before separating her fingers to let thin rivers trickle down onto the surface.

Hopeful, Atem waited — but her eyes remained glazed and shining, even as her lips parted to speak at last.

“I almost let you die.”

He could almost see the very moment shame sank into her, like the fangs of an asp. His own heart grew heavy as he reached out and took one of her hands, folding his fingers over hers to form a loose fist. “Sati—”

“No.” She pulled her hand away sharply, turning to face him. The look she gave was one of almost  _ anger.  _ She uncurled her fingers, looking down into her palm again. Then, as if on impulse, she reached out and pressed her fingertips into his middle, just below his navel. “I almost  _ let _ you  _ die.” _

Her touch was soft, but Atem still winced a moment. As he looked down, he realized why: She was resting her fingers on the short, raised scar on his abdomen — the spot where Bakura had driven his knife not two months prior.

“I was so _ afraid,” _ Satiah whispered. “Afraid of everything you stood for. Afraid of who you would become.” She pushed her palm tight against his skin — as if concealing damning evidence. “But I didn’t even  _ know  _ you then. I was so worried about who you  _ might _ be, I didn’t realize who you  _ were.”  _ At last, she looked up at him. Tears were now coming to join the dull shine in her eyes. “I almost let him  _ kill  _ you—"

The last syllable was drowned in a tortured sob. Before a second one could seize her, Atem found himself sliding down into the water and encircling her with his arms. She resisted at first, but he drew her tight against him, hushing her in strained, urgent hisses. He smoothed a hand against the side of her head, brushing back a tangle of her wet hair so he could press his lips to her ear. “I forgive you,” he said, no more than a whisper at first — then, more fiercely: “I  _ forgive _ you.”

She stifled her weeping into her hand, then into the curve of his neck as she finally turned and fitted herself to him. There, he rocked her like a child, hopeful that time and tenderness might be enough to draw out the venom of her guilt.

* * *

After three days, only one lotus blossom remained in the vase on Satiah’s night table. Like all the others, it was withering pitifully now — its once-vibrant petals turned pallid and gray, its yellow stamens curling inward on themselves. Satiah stared at the drooping flower as the sun crept eagerly up the bed in search of her face. Half of her wanted to reach out and cradle the blossom, the other longed to crush it in her fist — as if that might somehow put it out of its misery.

Deep down, Satiah knew her despondency was quickly becoming caustic, both to herself and those around her. But these thoughts only ever seemed to turn to anger, which in turn led to even more self-pity, perpetuating a vicious cycle she felt thoroughly incapable of breaking. To his credit, Atem had remained patient with her, giving her the space she needed to work through her resurfacing grief — so much space, in fact, Satiah was forced to wonder if his distance might actually be veiling a deeper contempt.

He hadn’t spoken a word about her betrayal since the night after their return from Khafra’s pyramid, but she could see the seeds of doubt germinating behind his eyes whenever he looked at her. To Satiah, whatever words of compassion or forgiveness he could muster would never feel enough to erase what she had done.

Sunlight had just begun to warm her throat when the door to the residence creaked open below. Hurriedly, Satiah pulled herself up against the headboard, trying to feign some semblance of composure to greet whoever it was now climbing the stairs to the bedchamber. But when Atem stepped into the light, bearing a pitying smile, she was left feeling like a pebble eroding within the currents of the Nile.

He paused for a moment, then dropped his eyes and swept over to sit on the bed. There, he took one of her hands and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. The sensation drove another stake of shame through her. 

He flashed his eyes up briefly; they looked almost as pale as the dying flower beside her. “How did you sleep?”

Satiah moved her head and shoulders ambivalently, halfway between a shrug and a nod.

“Are you hungry?”

She shook her head.

“Feeling alright today?”

Running out of nonverbal responses, she finally allowed herself to reply. “Fine.”

The smile returned to his face, less rueful now. “Well enough for visitors I hope?”

Satiah’s brow furrowed. But before she could answer, the door to the residence rattled open again, this time giving way to heavy, uneven footsteps. Atem stood back from the bed, allowing Satiah to glimpse a familiar silhouette taking shape in the doorway — Jahar soon staggered over the threshold, leaning grudgingly on a wooden cane.

She felt her mouth falling open at the sight, which caused an amused grin to lash itself across Jahar’s face. Atem broke a smile as well, then quietly made for the stairs, stopping to lay a hand to Jahar’s shoulder as he passed.

While the king’s footsteps drew out of earshot, Jahar straightened up and beamed at Satiah. He sniffed in the silence, then gave her a jaunty nod. “You look awful,” he grunted.

Satiah exhaled a wry laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

He held his hands out incredulously. “What? I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“‘Happy’ isn’t exactly the word I’d choose.”

He made a low, disapproving sound, then hobbled forward to sit on the edge of the bed. “Indeed. Your husband tells me you’ve been feeling rather sorry for yourself lately.”

Satiah shot him a glare.

“Alright, so he wasn’t quite as blunt about it,” Jahar said. “But I knew what he meant.”

Satiah wanted to feel guilty again, but Jahar’s radiance wouldn’t let her. “You two seem to be getting along  _ swimmingly _ all of a sudden,” she said.

Jahar just shrugged. “It helps that he’s a bit less …  _ glum _ than his father. I’ll give him that, at least.”

Satiah allowed herself another smile, though her eyes soon drifted down to her hands, which were fiddling nervously in her lap.

“Besides,” Jahar huffed, “it’s hard to hold a grudge against someone who cares so deeply for my favorite student.”

When she looked up, Jahar had an uncharacteristic twinkle in his dark eyes. He inhaled sharply and patted a hand on her knee. 

“So tell your old Master then,” he said, “what ails you so?”

Satiah dropped her eyes again and fiddled faster, running linen viciously through her fingers. It took her a long time to find her words, and even longer to speak them. “Down in the pyramid…” she started. “The God, it — it showed us things. Things I thought I was ready to see…” A familiar fear gripped around her throat, thinning her voice. “But I wasn’t.”

The declaration settled thickly in the air, but Jahar gave it space to breathe. Surprisingly, Satiah felt her heart growing lighter with each passing moment. She let her gaze roam up again when he scooped one of her hands into his. Gone was the twinkle from his eye — replaced with familiar shrewdness.

“The Gods tested you,” Jahar said simply. “Just as they did me. The difference is — you prevailed.” Satiah blinked at him, but his conviction remained strong. “You wouldn’t be sitting here if you hadn’t.”

She curled her hand tight around his to stave off the threat of tears. “Then why does it still feel like I failed?”

Jahar let slip a knowing sigh. He lifted his hand and thumbed her chin. “Because you, my dear, are not a god,” he said. “Nor is your royal husband — no matter what the scriptures say.” He smiled impishly at the look she gave him. “You are both human, and therefore you must sometimes suffer mankind’s unfortunate pains.” He dipped his head down to find Satiah’s eyes before she could let them drift away again. “But that means you get to revel in its joys as well.”

Satiah forced a smile, but she knew Jahar was keen to her ruse. He lifted his free hand from the cane in his lap and layered it on top of hers.

“That boy adores you, Sati,” he said — then, looking to the ceiling, “Iset pity him.” The laugh that shuddered out of her was true this time. “I don’t think I’ve seen such devotion since your father and mother.” Satiah looked up, and for the first time in days she felt her cheeks warming. “Don’t let this dolorous business with the gods keep you from making the happiness you deserve.”

With a deep breath, Satiah squeezed his hand. “And what about you, then?” she asked. “Where will you find happiness now?”

Jahar scoffed and pulled both hands out of her lap. Groaning, he stood from the bed, supporting his weight on his cane. “You’ll find that your definition of happiness changes as you get older,” he said. For a moment, his eyes drifted over his shoulder to glance out the window, where Khufu’s pyramid shone like a moonbeam against the blue sky. “For now…” Looking back, he reached out and ran his finger across the lotus blossom on her bedside table. “…just enjoy the little things.”

With a subtle wink, he turned and hobbled away, leaving Satiah bathed in sunlight.

* * *

Squinting against the light streaming in from the ship’s porthole, Satiah watched with great consternation as four soapstone sticks cascaded across the galley table, landing with the exact throw Atem needed to seal victory on their third game of senet in a row. She hissed out an exaggerated sigh while he escorted his last pawn off the board.

“Sorry,” he said, though his voice lilted with satisfaction.

“When are you just going to let me win?” Satiah blurted, fighting a girlish giggle of her own.

“I see nothing to gain by making you think you’re better than you really are.”

Satiah clicked her tongue, still trying to feign anger. But when Atem glanced up at her, his face cast in the teetering ray of sunlight, anger became something she couldn’t even fake. Fearing she might soon mirror his full-fledged grin, she looked away, peering out the porthole to watch a swathe of farmland roll by.

They were roughly halfway through their ten-hour journey to Hardai — a tedious but unavoidable mission, Atem had told her, to check in with the nomark of Behdet and appraise his progress on the irrigation system the crown had recently funded. It seemed a frivolous reason to travel such a long way, but in truth, Satiah was glad to put some distance between herself and Memphis for a few days. Ever since their return from the second pyramid, it felt like every familiar crack and crevice in the villa conjured up memories of Metka.

“Shall we play again?”

Satiah looked back to see Atem cradling a handful of black pawns. “You must realize by now that I’m physically incapable of backing down from a challenge,” she said.

Atem smirked; he had already started to reset the pieces. “Oh, I’m well aware.”

Satiah began gathering her white pawns and setting them on alternating spaces in the first row. She had just laid down her last one when a deep lurch in the ship caused all the pieces to slide off the board and clatter to the table.

Startled, Satiah looked up at her husband, who seemed thoroughly unconcerned by their sudden change in course. In fact, he was looking a bit amused. Muttering to herself, Satiah stood and crossed to the porthole, peering out to see a sheer cliff rising up beside them. “Where are we going?” The words came out more like a demand than a question, and she looked back to see Atem fighting a mirthful grin now. He just shrugged, then stood and jerked his head toward the door. Satiah narrowed her eyes as he turned and led the way through the dark halls to the ship’s upper deck.

When they emerged beneath the shower of late afternoon sun, Satiah recognized their surroundings immediately: The Faiyum Oasis stretched its arms wide across the horizon, forming a perfect reflection of the sky in the water’s glassy surface. Framed by every manner of terrain — rolling farmlands, jagged cliffs, busy settlements — Faiyum was truly a refuge from the sparse desert which surrounded it.

Satiah tightened her slack jaw when she felt Atem sliding a hand around her waist. She turned to him, first piqued, then charmed by his glowing smile. “We’re not going to Hardai, are we?”

He laughed and shook his head.

Huffing, Satiah looked back to watch the ship easing deeper into Faiyum’s embrace. “And what of your kingly duties?”

“It’s like you said — a Pharaoh must be ready to rule his kingdom from anywhere.” He drew her snug against his hip. “My pen and seal travel with me — everything else can be left up to Aknadin.”

Satiah made a derisive sound. At this, she felt a soft kiss feather across her cheek, and a burning warmth bloomed from the spot.

“The kingdom won’t fall into disrepair if we’re gone for three days,” Atem said, hooking a finger beneath her chin to turn her head toward him. “I think we’ve earned a bit of a reprieve, don’t you?”

Resigned, Satiah flashed a small smile and allowed herself to lean into him. 

Together, they watched still waters laze by as the ship skimmed toward Shedet — Faiyum’s bustling capital. There, they disembarked at the foot of the temple of Sobek, greeted by Faiyum’s nomark, Djedefer, and his family. Nostalgic as it was for Satiah to chat with one of her father’s oldest friends, the visit was just a formality — Djedefer offered to put them up in his adjoining villa, but Atem had arranged for them to stay in one of the nomark’s smaller, quieter properties located in a nearby private cove.

Knowing Djedefer’s lavish taste, Satiah was unsurprised to find his second home just as well-appointed as his primary residence, perhaps rivaling even the Memphis villa. The residence itself consisted of three rooms — a bedroom, a washroom, and a sitting area, all situated on ground level and open to an adjoining terrace shaded by wispy linens. Further up the hill, there was a sprawling complex with plenty of space for the gaggle of servants and advisors who’d traveled with them, including Seto and Mahad. After sweeping the residence and its surrounding grounds for signs of danger, the Guardians and soldiers left their king and queen in peace.

Slowly, Satiah moved from room to room, following the path of sunlight pouring in from each window and door. She stopped in the bedroom, peering through the wide, west-facing doorway toward the shoreline. There, gentle waves caressed the white sands, waving her a warm welcome. Even as a child, she had always loved visiting the Oasis. It had an atmosphere unlike any other waterway in Egypt — somewhere between the mystery of the seaside and the serenity of the Nile.

Satiah jumped a bit at the feel of Atem’s hand falling to her shoulder, having not heard his footsteps on the tiles. She looked down to see he’d removed his shoes, and his cloak, too, was already thrown across the bed. “Shall we test the waters?” he said, nodding toward the shoreline.

Satiah smiled. After removing her own shoes and traveling attire, she and her husband began a leisurely stroll down to the lake’s warm waters. There, they waded and lounged until the sun painted itself orange across the entire Oasis. Satiah found it odd how quickly Ra’s eye made its descent below the desert plateau to the west — it seemed he was only ever in a hurry to leave when there was joy to be had.

Back up at the villa, the servants had started a fire in the brazier on the terrace, and Atem went inside to retrieve a blanket for him and Satiah to share while they watched the stars twinkle out from behind Nut’s deep skin. But before even the brightest lights had emerged, their eyes were no longer on the sky, turned instead to gaze upon each other. Amber and violet melted together in the firelight, falling closed only at the soft meeting of lips. 

When Atem pulled away, Satiah felt as if the fire in her heart might outburn even the roaring brazier beside them. But then he opened his eyes, and she found herself suddenly cooled in the zephyr of his gaze. He smiled to conceal his wistfulness, reaching up and brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly, his fingers sinking deeper as if he were afraid she might escape his grasp. “What if we were to … put off our final descent?”

Satiah’s first instinct  _ was _ to pull away — but she fought it, instead channeling her conflicted feelings into a twisted expression on her face. Half of her — the half that was here, in this moment, encircled by the way things  _ should  _ be — wanted nothing more than to agree with him. But her other half — the louder, strong one — knew only how things  _ were. _

“There’s nothing in the spell that says we can’t wait another month,” Atem went on. To his credit, he kept his voice free of the urgency she knew he was feeling. “That would give us some time to … recover. And prepare.”

Satiah lowered her eyes to watch the fire lashing itself around charred tinder. “Forty days is a long time,” she said. “Anything could happen between now and then.”

Atem hummed his understanding. “Things have been quiet lately,” he said. As if it heard him, the fire stopped crackling for a moment. “I hate to think what would happen if we were to face the Almighty One before we were ready.”

He fell quiet, and in the silence, Satiah’s ears rang with all the words he’d left unsaid. Slowly, she turned her eyes back to the sky, finding it now awash in starlight. With a sigh, she nestled closer to him, allowing her quieter side to win out for the moment. “Let me think about it.”

...

Two days passed as gentle and sure as the current of the Nile, filled with more ‘shoulds’ and ‘ought-to-bes.’ The daylight hours took them through horseback rides, lush meals, and walks in the marketplace, while the evenings brought loving affections and restful sleep. 

On their third and final day, Satiah awoke to a gentle thrumming sound coming from overhead. She stirred, opening her eyes to gaze upon her husband’s face. He looked to be sleeping as peacefully as he ever had, his breaths whispering out from between his parted lips, deep and steady. She could have stared at him for hours, if not for the swirling haze of gray that soon drew her eyes upward, toward the doorway on the other side of the bed. The light streaming in was particularly drab, even for the twilight hours. But as her eyes adjusted, she realized where the pattering sound was coming from — raindrops sailed down from the cloud-covered sky, drenching the earth in scintillating moisture.

Quietly, Satiah slipped out from beneath the covers and glided toward the grayness. There, she leaned against the doorframe, and her nose was soon filled with a rich, earthen scent, like freshly reaped barley ready to be mulled. The land looked different in the veiled light — the sandy slopes mottled with dark streaks where the rain was running down toward the sleepy Oasis beyond. A thick mist blurred the line where the land met the water, making the white sails of the ships look like spirits floating upon the glimmering surface.

Satiah closed her eyes and envisioned herself walking down to the banks of the Oasis, wading into the shallow pools and watching the rain scatter ripples all across the glassy water. She would run her fingers along the reed stalks and rushes, feel the rich silt squeezing between her toes, and wait for Nefertem to break through the cloud cover and cast off the rain with his smiling face.

But when she opened her eyes, she was still standing in the bedchamber, her fingers resting on the warped wood of the doorframe.

Her senses awakened further when she heard the sound of stirring behind her. She looked over her shoulder, seeing Atem turning beneath the sheets, casting his sleepy eyes at her and smiling.

“Come back to bed,” he whispered.

Satiah let her lips turn up ever so slightly, just for a moment, but the song of the rain called her attention back over to the door. She wasn’t ready to leave this dreamscape yet, even if the warm arms of her husband were waiting for her.

Atem must have soon realized this — a moment later, she heard him rising up, his feet padding softly across the floor as he came to stand behind her. She shivered when he slipped his hands around her middle, fitting himself against her back.

“Rain,” he said, his voice humming against her ear. “It’s been years since I’ve seen it. It almost never comes as far south as Thebes.”

Satiah made a low noise, which stretched out to a soft sigh as Atem reached one hand up and brushed her hair over one shoulder. He then lowered his lips to her exposed skin, feathering kisses all along it. Satiah let her eyes flutter closed as he returned his hands to her waist, where he painted sweeping circles with his fingertips. Slowly, Satiah turned in his arms, reaching her own up to wrap around his neck and pull him in for soft, sensual kisses. His lips were smooth and warm, and it breathed new life into her to feel them pressed against her own. 

As if all of Thoth’s wisdom had suddenly entered her, Satiah pulled back with a start, causing Atem’s eyes to fly open. He looked at her tensely for a moment, but his expression softened when she smiled. “Let’s wait,” she said. “Just one more month.”

Atem let not a moment pass before he swept her in for another kiss, and she knew just from this moment that their love would not be measured in days or months, or even years — but in millennia.

...

Hours later, they found themselves aboard the royal ship again, and Satiah stayed above deck only long enough to bid the Oasis goodbye. The rest of the return journey was spent in the same way as the onward one: head-to-head over the senet board, sharing in laughs of victory and groans of defeat.

But even this joy was short-lived.

Just before sunset, a commotion above drew Atem and Satiah hurriedly back to the upper decks. Even before Satiah mounted the last step, she could smell it: the distinct, barren scent of dross and ash.

On the horizon, Memphis burned.


	38. Ash

Atem stood against the railing of the royal ship, watching in horror as they drew ever closer to destruction. Fire lashed itself around Memphis’ proud monuments, and even from across the still water, he could hear the cries of his subjects as they fled their burning homes. With so much distance still between the ship and the shore, he could not yet see the perpetrators of this heinous crime.

Ahead, Mahad was perched upon the stempost platform, his eyes closed and head held tight between his hands. A moment later, a flash of violet appeared against the reddening sky as the Magician of Illusion came to hover before its master.

At this, Mahad opened his eyes, turning quickly to his Pharaoh. Before the Guardian even opened his mouth, Atem knew the name he was about to speak:

“Bakura.”

Instantly, Atem’s heart was run through with knives of fury. 

“He looks to be leading a troop of bandits,” Mahad went on. “They are occupying the villa and temple. The Conclave is scattered, and Aknadin has been taken prisoner.”

Fists clenched and quivering, Atem opened his mouth to deliver plans for countermeasures, but he stopped at the feel of a hand falling to his shoulder. Satiah stepped up beside him, her wide eyes glinting almost as red as the horizon.

“Were you able to locate my father?” she asked. “Or Jahar?”

Though Atem knew every moment was precious, he let this one slip by while Mahad found his words.

“No sign of them, my queen,” he said at last. “I am sorry.”

Atem looked to his wife, watching a multitude of emotions flicker across her face — fear, skepticism, despair, and for a moment, hope — before she finally met his eyes and nodded once.

Atem turned to Mahad. “Tell the captain to let us off at the foot of the temple,” he said. “Seto and I will face Bakura and his men. Mahad, you are to go with the queen and help evacuate the city.”

Mahad looked surprised for a moment, but he knew better than to speak against the orders of his king. With a deep bow, he dispersed his  _ ka _ and set off to begin preparations.

His focus narrowed by urgency, Atem failed to notice another subtle shift in his wife’s expression as he turned to leave her. She caught his shoulder again, causing him to round on her, much more sharply than he’d meant to. She fell back a step, her face painted with the sharp lines of doubt now.

“I suppose there’s no use protesting your commandment?” she hissed.

Atem felt his rigid heart softening. He stepped in close and cupped her face in both his hands. For a long time, he said nothing — simply stared into the shimmering pools of her eyes until he feared he might dissolve into them like sand. “Sati… I wish I could be with you always. I wish I never had to leave your side.” She closed her eyes, and the shine of her tears became trapped between her dark lashes. “But your people need you. You are their shepherd. Protect them from the wolves.”

He drew her in for a brief, trembling kiss, then wrapped his arms around her and held her while the air broke with the sailors’ shouts and the world slowed beneath their feet. 

Atem forced himself to pull away as the ship eased to a stop at the wharf nearest the temple and villa. Hand in hand, he and Satiah moved to stand at the edge, their eyes scanning the smoke-choked horizon. The structures here were now no more than black scars upon the land, while deeper in the city, homes and monuments were just beginning to catch aflame.

As soon as the disembarking platform was secured, Atem and Satiah led the way down it, followed by the Guardians and the small battalion of kingsguard who had traveled with them. All kept a close watch for danger as they swept through the scorched streets, though there seemed to be no bandits left in this sector of the city — moved on to plunder richer homes or otherwise dispense Bakura’s evildoing. Still, Atem held tightly to Satiah’s hand as they walked, and her grip was equally firm.

At the first cross-street, half the battalion turned southward, led by Mahad. “This way, my queen,” he said, looking back. “The civilians were last seen taking shelter in the Temple of Hathor.”

Satiah’s body moved to follow, but her hand remained grasped tight to Atem’s — their arms drawn taut like a thread of fate until momentum forced their fingers apart. She turned away, casting a starshower of tears from her cheeks.

Atem watched her disappear behind the haze, fading like  _ ka _ into the aether.

“Pharaoh.”

Seto’s voice caught Atem’s attention again. The Guardian gestured onward, where Sekhmet’s temple stood at the crest of the hill. In its shadow, the nomark’s villa seemed relatively unschathed compared to the structures nearer to the water, but Atem knew it was likely because Bakura’s bandits were busy turning it over. For this reason, they gave it a wide berth as they passed it, intent to avoid the fray until they could pin down where Aknadin was being held.

Their hurried pace brought them quickly to the entrance of the temple, only for them to discover that an entire corner of the foremost courtyard had been blown inward by the prior battle. After a reverent pause to inspect the wreckage, Seto led the way over it. Inside, piles of debris still smoldered, sending pillars of smoke billowing into the red sky. Atem stepped down onto the sand, then paused to survey his surroundings, but the storm of soot and ash made it hard to distinguish creeping shadows from true threats.

Thankfully, their foe was bold enough to announce his presence with a laugh — cold and twisted, cutting sharply even through the heavy air. A moment later, a shadow grew long behind a cloud of smoke. Atem tensed, ready to call upon his  _ ka _ , only for his eyes to flash wide as Aknadin stumbled forward, falling prostrate to the ground in the center of the courtyard.

“Aknadin!” Seto called. He surged forward a step, but stopped when more cold laughter reverberated into a chilling trill along the close temple walls. A new figure then sliced a void through the smoke — familiar red robes and a shock of white hair, all doused in streaks of soot.

Bakura grinned wickedly as he lifted a foot and pressed it flat on Aknadin’s back, who writhed and groaned into the sand. Atem saw Seto twitch with intent again, but he held himself back — likely at the sight of more shadowy figures now taking shape behind the thief. Atem flicked his eyes all around the courtyard, trying to keep track of the new threats — at least a dozen bandits at his first cursory count. They all bore weapons of war — spears and swords and axes — though he had no way of knowing how many of them were gifted enough to summon  _ ka  _ as well _. _

Bakura laughed again and twisted his foot deeper into Aknadin’s back. “Finally, your great Pharaoh arrives!” he shouted down to his prisoner; Aknadin groaned again. Still grinning, Bakura glanced back up at Atem. “I hope you enjoyed your little  _ vacation _ , your highness—” He stopped himself, looking curious all of a sudden. “Ah, but where is your beloved wife? Surely she wouldn’t want to miss all of this  _ excitement.” _

Bakura threw his head back with more laughter, and Atem was only vaguely aware of the pain he was dealing his own hands, which were curled into tight fists.

“Name your price for the life of my advisor,” he demanded, cutting Bakura’s laughter short.

Slowly, the thief removed his foot from Aknadin’s back. “My king, look around you!” he shouted. “What makes you think you’re in  _ any _ position to bargain with me?”

Atem swept his eyes across the courtyard again. “I confess I know not your purpose for desecrating this holy place,” he said, projecting his voice so that every one of Bakura’s bandits could hear. “But it seems to me if destruction was your only intent, you would have no cause to stay here any longer.” When Atem looked back at Bakura, the thief’s dark eyes were glinting revealingly. “So that must mean you still need something,” Atem went on. “Something only I can give you.”

Bakura huffed. Grudgingly, he looked back to his line of bandits and snapped his fingers. From behind a puff of smoke, one of his minions trotted out, arms laden with a heavy object. The bandit dropped the object into the sand beside Aknadin, who winced and covered his head reflexively.

As the bandit backed away, Atem was able to get a clearer look at the object — the lockbox which held the Codex and Millennium Tome. But judging by its broken cover, Bakura had already succeeded in undoing Shimon’s handiwork. Sure enough, as the thief bent over the box, he threw the cover back without a care and lifted up the Tome, displaying it proudly to Atem.

“Your father’s dark secret,” Bakura muttered, “come to light at last.” Briefly, he thumbed through the pages, then pulled out a scrap of papyrus from the middle — one of his and Satiah’s shorthand notes. “How clever you are to obfuscate your work. Or perhaps these are merely secret love letters, left between husband and wife?”

Laughter rippled through the line of bandits at the back of the courtyard; Atem’s hands curled tighter still.

Bakura crumpled the note and tossed it away, then leaned down to drop the Tome back into the lockbox. “Alas, the gods’ words are useless without a means to translate them. But lucky for us, you have earned your moniker, haven’t you Pharaoh?” Bakura straightened, pulling the Codex up with him this time. “The King of Games, they call you. How fitting.” He waved the Codex tauntingly, then began twisting the sections in random order. “And yet, it seems the Great Ancestor continues to protect his interests, even from beyond the grave!” He threw his arms up in feigned frustration. “Ramesses was clever in that way — always suspicious of those with …  _ ambitious _ intent.” He stepped forward a bit, then pointed the Codex straight out in front of him. “The key, Pharaoh. I know you have it on your person. Give it to me, and perhaps I’ll return this  _ pitiful _ priest unscathed.”

Atem hesitated for a moment, flicking his eyes between the thief and his prisoner. 

“Fine then,” Bakura spat, “keep it if you wish.” He bent over Aknadin, grabbing him by the scruff and turning him onto his back. “But what a shame it would be to leave Memphis empty handed. I think  _ this _ —” He traced his finger along Aknadin’s Millennium Eye. “—would be a touching souvenir to commemorate my travels, wouldn’t you say, Pharaoh?”

Bakura pinched his fingers around the Eye’s gold onlay, causing Aknadin to whimper in fear.

“Enough!” Atem shouted. He stood rigid a moment, until Bakura released the Eye and straightened up again. Swiftly, Atem reached beneath the collar of his cloak and took hold of the cartouche pendant, pulling on the twine sharply so that it snapped free from his neck. Holding it by the slack, he extended it toward his foe.

Bakura smirked wickedly, then grabbed Aknadin’s robes again and forced him to his feet. “A wise choice, Pharaoh.” With careful, measured steps, he moved forward, pulling Aknadin beside him.

Atem, too, took his first step, ignoring Seto’s hissing protests from behind. Slowly, the mortal enemies drew nearer to one another, until only an arm’s length was left between them. From this angle, Atem could see the stark lines of mania stretching from the villain’s grinning lips and furrowed brow. Beneath his right eye, the scars given to him by Satiah had now fully healed, turned a pallid, milky color that vaguely complemented his hair. His face doused in ash, Atem thought he looked more like a ghost than ever.

Bakura released Aknadin’s robes and held out his free hand expectantly. Atem lifted his arm, locking eyes with his foe for a fleeting moment before releasing the pendant to fall into the thief’s upturned palm.

Another amused chuckle shuddered through Bakura as he brought the cartouche to the Codex and slipped the etching into the slot at the top. “A wise choice indeed.”

As soon as the cartouche slid into place, the Codex lit up with familiar arcane symbols. Grinning, but with his eyes locked on the glowing artifact, Bakura lifted his free hand and pushed on Aknadin’s back, causing him to stumble forward. Atem caught Aknadin’s shoulder to steady him, straightening him up to look into his functioning eye — panicked but grateful.

Aknadin had opened his mouth to speak, but his words were suddenly drowned in an ear-piercing screech echoing along the temple walls. Immediately, Atem glanced at Bakura — only to find the thief looking back at him with a similar expression of fearful suspicion.

Then, a shadow cut across the courtyard. Atem raised his eyes, his heart nearly bursting at the sight of shining, umbral blackness soaring overhead. The Red-Eyes Black Dragon let loose a second cry, nearly drowning yet another sound rumbling down from the distance —  _ hoofbeats. _ Atem turned, looking through the collapsed temple wall to see a cloud of dust descending from the western ridge surrounding dozens of mounted priests, led by Jahar and Metjen.

At the sound of another cry, Atem released Aknadin and faced Bakura again. The thief’s eyes were upturned now, his face beginning to glow red as the Dragon gathered fire in its jaws. Swiftly, Atem dropped his eyes to a nearby debris pile. Lurching toward it, he slid his foot beneath a broken spear shaft on the ground and kicked it into the air, grabbing it in a javelin hold. With his foe distracted, Atem threw the spear shaft toward Bakura, striking the Codex and turning it to a hundred shimmering pieces.

Bakura flinched and looked down, his eyes shining with rage. He screamed a shrill  _ “NO,” _ but his voice was swallowed up as rippling heat rained down from on high, scattering the bandits at the edge of the temple. Atem, too, reeled and covered his head, and when he came back up for air, a streak of pale flesh and scales had flown up between him and his foe. Staggering back, Atem found himself face to face with Bakura’s  _ ka _ — the fearsome Diabound.

The monster reared its snake-head, allowing Atem to glimpse its master for a moment — on his knees and gathering the broken pieces of the Codex. Knowing he was too late to counter Diabound’s attack, Atem braced himself, only to hear the warm hum of magic and a resounding clash overhead. Looking up, he saw Diabound grappling with a familiar  _ ka _ — Seto’s — the mighty winged swordsman, Duos.

Seizing his chance, Atem fell back to a safe distance and readied himself to summon his own  _ ka _ . But he found himself frozen with wonder yet again as magical auras flooded the courtyard from all sides — spirit after spirit, coming down from the heavens like servants of the gods to mete vengeance upon the fleeing bandit army.

Atem returned to the present moment when Seto grunted behind him. Flicking his eyes back to the center of the courtyard, Atem saw Diabound breaking free of Duos’ parry. Diabound’s snake head then reared itself up, lashing out to strike at Duos’ middle. A strained cry erupted from Seto, and when Diabound withdrew its fangs, Duos was left to crumple pitifully to the sand.

“Seto!” Atem cried, whipping his head over his shoulder to see his comrade hugging himself in pain. Atem rushed over to support Seto, whose eyes were downturned in disappointment. 

“I’m sorry, my king,” he said.

“No,” Atem gasped, “you fought bravely, my friend.”

Seto grabbed at Atem’s shoulder, then nodded his head toward the fray behind them. “Hurry — you must not let the thief get away.”

Atem looked over his shoulder to see Diabound fleeing across the courtyard, his master shortly behind, whose arms were laden with his spoils. At the edge of the temple, Diabound burst effortlessly through the wall as if it were made of glass, then shielded Bakura as he climbed up the debris and disappeared from sight.

Atem turned back to Seto. “Stay here and gather your strength,” he said. “When you’re able, rejoin the battle and help free the city.”

Seto nodded his understanding, allowing himself to be taken to shelter by the kingsguard who were clustered nearby. Instantly, Atem set off back through the crumbling temple wall. 

Across the hot sands, he met eyes with Jahar and Metjen, who were directing the rebel priests deeper into the city. Atem raced to meet them, taking hold of Metjen’s reins to steady his twitching steed.

“Lend me your horse!” he called. “Their leader is fleeing!”

Metjen looked conflicted a moment, but he quickly dismounted and offered the reins. Atem took them and threw his leg over the steed.

“Let us come with you,” Jahar shouted.

“No!” Atem turned his horse in a circle to address the older men one last time. “Go south — find Satiah! Save as many civilians as you can!”

With that, he kicked hard into his horse’s sides, sending the steed lurching onward. He followed the exterior of the temple a ways, changing directions only when he glimpsed a pale blur rising up in the distance. In its shadow, Bakura fled on horseback, taking a trail westward into the mountains.

Atem snapped his reins to follow with haste. He gained ground quickly, but Bakura was already wise to his pursuit; looking over his shoulder, he swept his arm out to his  _ ka.  _ Instantly, Diabound pivoted, gathering a storm of swirling energy between its claws. Atem jerked his reins, just barely dodging the windforce blast Diabound unleashed a moment later. Quickly, he raised his own arm, calling on a new servant to defend him: bearing gold armor cut through with twisting red sinew, the mighty Curse of Dragon took flight.

In a flash, the Dragon surged forward and collided with Diabound, preventing it from unleashing its next attack. The two  _ ka _ tangled, their momentum still hurtling them onward above the storm of hoofbeats. A moment later, Diabound broke free of the Dragon’s hold, sending it flying into the cliff face. Wincing, Atem pushed through the sting of pain, urging his steed to keep pace as Bakura ducked around a switchback ahead. After Atem careened around the corner as well, he heard the distinct  _ whoosh  _ of the Dragon taking flight again.

On the next incline, the Dragon surged overhead, but instead of launching another attack on Diabound, Atem directed the spirit past it — and even beyond Bakura, who had almost reached the next switchback now. Gliding close to the cliff overhead, the Curse of Dragon used its long, hooked tail to scrape the rockface, sending a landslide of stone and debris falling down onto the path below. Bakura was forced to pull up short on his reins as he reached the flat overlook, trapping himself between a treacherous pile of boulders on one side and his pursuer on the other.

Atem, too, pulled hard on his reins, and as he came to a stop, his  _ ka _ swept back to hover over his shoulder. Diabound did the same, shielding its master with its massive body.

Bakura yelped a short laugh from behind his creature. “You know what’s amazing about you, Pharaoh?” he sang. “It seems you have no shortage of pawns willing to throw themselves into the fire for your sake. What is it about you that inspires such blind faith? You are just one man! One stupid, spoiled,  _ weak  _ excuse of a man!”

Atem gripped tight to his reins. “They believe in what I stand for,” he called back. “In justice. In truth.”

“Oh, really?” Bakura prodded. “And I suppose you believe you inherited such virtue from your father? The man who put an entire village to the sword for the sake of his own wicked ambition?” He let loose another dry laugh. “Well, unfortunately for you, Papo isn’t here to protect you anymore. And neither are your pathetic Guardians — or your precious wife!”

Atem’s core flared with rage. He thrust his arm up to the Dragon, whose narrow jaws parted to let loose a vortex of twisting flame toward Diabound. The pale creature dipped easily out of the way, causing Bakura to roar with more laughter.

“Speaking of which, where is the  _ darling  _ woman now?” Bakura called out. “I  _ long  _ to pay her back for what she did to me at Kul Elna.”

Another flare of anger, another flash of fire. This one managed to wing Diabound, but the monster was ready with a counterattack — sharp wind sliced across the battlefield, connecting squarely with the Dragon and sending a bolt of pain staggering through Atem.

“Perhaps once I’m through with you, I’ll go find her myself,” Bakura threatened. “Feed her to Diabound for dessert.”

Through squinted, sweat-soaked eyes, Atem looked up to see Bakura directing Diabound for a second attack. Foolishly, Atem sent the Dragon into the line of fire, in the hopes to at least inflict one scratch on the pale creature’s hide. But his efforts were in vain — Diabound’s snake head lashed out and sank its fangs into the Dragon’s middle; Atem cried out and doubled over against his horse’s neck while his spirit thrashed and struggled to break free.

Breaths coming short, vision narrowing, Atem gripped tightly to the mane of his steed. In his delirium, all he could think about was how it reminded him of Satiah’s hair: coarse, but delicate — a feathery curtain running through his fingers.

“That’s it… Get angry,” Bakura hissed. “You can’t beat me on your strength alone, and you know it. Call out to your God, if you so dare! See how it measures up to  _ my  _ anger —  _ my  _ hate!”

Forcing himself to sit up, Atem swept his arm out, sending one last jolt of strength into his  _ ka _ . The Curse of Dragon finally broke free, teetering backward in a wide circle as it struggled against the poison now coursing through its body. Blinking back sweat from his eyes, Atem struggled to focus on his enemy, who sat smugly upon his horse with his head thrown back in laughter again. 

While he listened to Bakura’s distorted mirth, Atem’s blurry vision was soon drawn over the thief’s shoulder, out to the darkening expanse of Memphis, where fires still raged all across the city. The dull, weakening beat of his heart lurched to life again when his eyes fell upon the Temple of Hathor — its proud pylons burning and sturdy walls collapsing.

More laughter rang out as Bakura took notice of the conflagration. “Oh my,” he tutted. “Seems your reinforcements have been overrun… The Temple of Hathor — isn’t that where the civilians are taking shelter?”

Every fiber of Atem’s being seemed boiling with wrath — the same agonizing strength and scalding pain which had seized him in his battle against Jahar. And yet, his  _ ba _ seemed to be fighting him — resisting the pull to call upon the Gods as he so longed to do. His body was here, facing down his mortal enemy with the creeping fingers of defeat reaching for him, but his heart was long gone — flying out across the burning city in search of his wife.

With a desperate cry, Atem dispersed his  _ ka _ and jerked on his horse’s reins, turning back down the path the way he’d come. Shame burned through him as he fled, with Bakura’s howling laughter following around every twist and turn. Atem knew the thief would not follow — he already had everything he wanted and more, and before Atem even reached the bottom of the hill, he could hear Diabound breaking through the pile of debris to clear a path for his master into the safe shelter of the mountains.

Instead, Atem focused his wheeling thoughts on Satiah. It was possible she and the civilians had already made it out without harm, and the empty temple was simply left to burn while they sought safer ground. But as Atem sank back into the twisted streets of Memphis, he was haunted by Bakura’s words. They infected him like a disease, conjuring up images of death and despair, even as he saw evidence of the rebel priests’ victory all over the city — bandits fleeing, fires snuffed out, civilians being rescued. Still, the temple burned bright against the indigo sky, and Atem knew he would never forgive himself for sending his wife into danger’s embrace without a second thought.

Finally, he rounded the corner to the temple’s square; across from its smoldering remains, a large gathering of civilians stood protected and tended by priests of the Memphis Conclave. At the forefront, Metjen was bent over a limp mass on the ground; when Atem realized it was Mahad, panic surged through him again. He galloped forward and dismounted, coming to stand, panting, before Metjen, who turned his wide eyes up from Mahad’s motionless form.

“He collapsed,” Metjen breathed, “from the smoke.”

“Satiah?” Atem pressed.

Metjen pointed to the temple. “She went back in to save a child left behind. But she should be back by now!”

Immediately, Atem set off for the front gate of the temple. The wood beams at its base were engulfed in flames, and they licked hungrily at him as he sprinted through. Inside, the front courtyard was filled with smoke, which obscured his vision and hung heavy in his lungs. Coughing, he wrapped his cloak tight around his mouth and squinted to get his bearings. Flames poured out of the temple’s main prayer hall at the other end of the courtyard, but with all the other entrances blocked or destroyed, Atem had to figure this was where Satiah had gone.

Without pause, Atem dashed through the burning doorway and into the prayer hall, where more fire wrapped itself around wood columns and ripped through linens hanging from the ceiling. He stumbled onward, his lungs still laden with smoke. Pulling his cloak away, he called out Satiah’s name, stopping to listen for any sign of her reply — but nothing came. He forced himself deeper — his muscles protesting, head lightened, body drenched in sweat — and called out again.

This time, between a gasping, labored breath, he thought he heard the slightest sound of her voice, nearly drowned in the ear-splitting crackle of a beam overhead. “Satiah!” he cried again, given new strength by the mere hope of her presence.

Muffled, from beyond a nearby pillar, he heard his name being called, and his body was drawn instantly toward the sound. At the back of the prayer hall, he came upon the doorway to a small storeroom, and even from its threshold he could feel thick heat radiating from inside it. He stumbled through the door, steadying himself on the frame, and squinted through the smoke to see Satiah bent over at the back of the room. She was struggling to lift a collapsed, smoldering shelf, fallen between her and a small child cowering in the corner. Atem hurried to her side, bending to help her lever the shelf out from under the debris which trapped it.

“Go!” he coughed, and Satiah quickly crawled beneath the shelf to retrieve the child, who was sobbing fearfully. Arms quaking, Atem released the shelf just as they both emerged, then swept down to lift the child into one arm. With his free hand, he took Satiah’s and led the way out of the storeroom.

Retracing his steps, Atem dragged his wife onward — through the smoldering prayer hall, out to the smoke-filled courtyard — until finally, they burst back into the open air on the streets beyond. Atem staggered forward to meet Metjen, who took the child from his arms and returned her to her grateful family. Unburdened, Atem spun to Satiah, sweeping her into a firm embrace. She returned it, nestling her head into his shoulder.

Hours could have passed and Atem would have been none the wiser. When he finally pulled away, he lifted his hands to cup her cheeks. Her hair and face were streaked in ash, but he kissed her all the same, tasting of the soot on her lips. Breaking free, he pressed his forehead into hers and breathed relief down upon her. “Gods,” he whispered, “I thought I’d lost you.”

Satiah shuddered out a sigh of her own, then lifted her arms to brace herself against him, pushing them apart a bit. Her reddened eyes danced across his face for a moment, until finally, her hoarse voice choked out one word: “Bakura?”

In a fleeting moment, his relief collapsed back into searing shame. Slowly, he shook his head. 

Her smile faded, taking every bit of her joy and hope with it, until there was nothing left painted on her features but dry ash and stale resentment.


	39. Know

“I can’t _believe_ you let him get away.”

Satiah’s words dug sharply into Atem’s flesh, peeling back his composure with the precision of an embalmer’s knife. Heated, she paced back and forth before the altar of the Gods’ shrine — one of the few places left unscathed by Bakura’s men, thanks in large part to the strong magic protecting it.

“He has _everything_ now,” Satiah spat, pacing faster. “The Tome, the Codex—”

“This isn’t the end,” Atem interjected. “I shattered the Codex. And the spell — I’ve had it memorized since before we left for Faiyum. We’re still a step ahead—”

“But you _had_ him, Atem.” She rounded on him, her wild eyes flickering in the light of the braziers. “You could have _crushed_ him with the Gods. But you let him go.” She threw her hands up in defeat. _“Why?”_

He hesitated. He knew she would be unsatisfied with the truth, but in the presence of the Gods, he felt compelled to speak it just the same. “I had to get to you,” he breathed. “I had to make sure you were alright.”

At this, she crossed her arms and shook her head lightly. “If you were so desperate to be with me, then why did you send me away in the first place?” Her voice was softer now, but no less barbed. “I could have helped you. We could have beat him together.” 

“You don’t understand,” he gasped. “I — I just… I can’t—” He exhaled sharply and sank down to the step of the altar behind him. “What does it matter? What’s done is done.”

The heat of her anger still beat down on him, forcing his head into his hands. A quiet, guiltful moment passed, broken by a shallow breath as Satiah knelt before him. He fought the urge to pull away when she took hold of his hands, bringing them to her middle.

“I trusted you to do what needed to be done,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you trust _me_ to do the same?”

Words clung in Atem’s throat like congealed blood. How could he bear to tell her? That he’d let doubt into his heart the moment they’d returned from Khafra’s pyramid? That his faith had been shaken by all the things he’d seen, and all the things he feared he’d see?

But as he looked into her eyes — flicking back and forth like a predator watching prey — he could tell: she already knew it all. 

She sighed and lowered her head, and for a moment Atem thought she might be preparing to dissect him again with her words. But she held her tongue, instead pulling his hands up to kiss them once. The motion was one of pity more than bitterness, and when she stood and disappeared into the darkness, Atem was left feeling as though she had flayed everything away but the malignancy which plagued him.

* * *

For the first time since Satiah returned home, the sunrise over Memphis burned red.

She watched from the top of the villa watchtower as Ra emerged and painted the smoldering city in tones as deep as blood. All around, smoke still billowed and choked the air — writhing fingers reaching up from the market district; an angry fist of black soot pouring out of the scar where the Temple of Hathor had once stood. 

But even behind this curtain of darkness, there was evidence of hope — people coming together to tend the injured, bury the dead, and begin rebuilding. Jahar’s rebel priests had worked through the night to drive out the rest of the bandits and rally the civilians, and just before morning, Anuket and her militia had arrived from Sapi-Res with provisions of food and fresh water. Healers had been dispatched to the remaining temples and monuments, where refugees were beginning to gather for shelter. 

There was a strange beauty in watching candles flicker in every window of every temple left untouched — as if the light and hope of humanity might outburn even the wrath of the gods themselves.

Indeed, Ra was still cowering behind a thick orange cloud by the time a presence came to join Satiah in the watchtower. Leaning over the side of the roof, she saw her father mounting the ladder, looking as though he’d aged a hundred years in the last twelve hours. He pulled himself onto the roof and settled down beside Satiah in the corner. For a long time, they simply stared out at the horizon together, watching as the remnants of their past were pieced back together.

Slowly, the red tinge of the sky burned off to a deep, clear cerulean, blending down to touch the wide mouth of the Nile in the distance. Satiah felt her eyes start to water, first from squinting against the rising sun, but when her father wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drew her against him, a trickle of tears escaped and fled down her cheeks. She turned, smothering the wetness against the front of his robes.

“I don’t want to be a distraction,” she whispered into him, as if the folds of his cloak might capture and conceal this confession. “I don’t want to be the reason this kingdom falls.”

But her father slipped a finger beneath her chin, lifting it up to greet his shining face. “I think a bit of your husband’s hubris is rubbing off on you,” he said, his eyes squinting with a smile. “My dear, kingdoms do not rise and fall off the back of one person.” He looked up, and Satiah followed his gaze, out toward the city again. “It takes all of us. Together.”

Satiah let the words sink deeply into her heart, watching as her father gazed out across the city. It suddenly struck her — that this was not the first time he had seen their home in such a state. She had been just a child then, when Metjen had been called upon to defend Memphis from a bloody invasion — and he had gone to great lengths to shield his children from the devastation their city had endured at the hands of the Nubians.

“That strength,” Metjen said, nodding to the horizon, “is what has kept this kingdom standing tall for centuries since before you were born — and so it will remain for long after you are gone. Not even a king of thieves can take that legacy away from you, or your people.”

Satiah knew her father had meant these as words of comfort, but at the mention of Bakura, she felt her sorrow being scorched away by anger again. It seemed as long as he lived, her legacy was destined to be marred by bloodshed — but at the same time, to go on letting him stoke her wrath seemed just as ill-fated. This was Bakura’s true evil, Satiah realized — that he could drive his enemies to so much ire that they were forced to define their very existence by it.

In this way, Satiah came to see Atem’s restraint in a new light. It wasn’t weakness which had stayed his hand against Bakura, nor even something as benevolent as mercy — but rather a desire to turn away from the temptation of vengeance, and to define his legacy by no man’s will but his own.

Satiah was pulled from her reverie when her father lightly jostled her shoulder. She looked up to see him smiling knowingly, as if he could read her very thoughts through the windows of her eyes.

“I wish you could have seen the look on Aknadin’s face when he saw me and Jahar leading the charge,” he said, bearing his teeth in a full-on grin. “A shame we hadn’t arrived just a _few minutes_ later.”

Satiah let slip a short, gratifying laugh at the thought, then pulled back to shoot him a suspicious look. “But you said _all of us_ , Father,” she said chidingly. “That means even men like Aknadin.”

Metjen barked a chuckle of his own and stroked Satiah’s shoulder again. “I suppose you’re right, my dear,” he admitted, looking back out at the city. “Spoken like a true queen.”

* * *

It was three full days before the full account of casualties was recorded.

Atem stood in the shadows of the prayer hall within the Sekhmet’s temple, which had been turned into a temporary embalming chamber after the city’s own morgue had proven too small to handle the load. He lifted the papyrus in his hands, but he had to read the ledger several times before the weight of the loss truly sank in.

Eight priests. Fifteen bandits. Twenty-two civilians. 

Four of them children.

Slowly, he lowered the ledger and swept his eyes across the sea of bodies, all in different stages of the embalming process. Some were already fully wrapped in linen, others just now being bled and incised. He found it both relieving and shameful that he did not recognize any of the dead eyes gazing up at him. Still, he felt it all — every prick of the knife, every whispered prayer, every wailing cry from a loved one over the body of their son, daughter, father, mother, brother, sister, husband, or wife.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of two men carrying a stretcher beside an open slab nearby. An embalmer came and helped the men transfer the body of a small child onto the slab. The enormous stone dwarfed the boy, who looked as though he couldn’t have been any older than Meriti. Atem watched, unblinking, as the embalmer manipulated the boy’s rigid limbs, laying them down by his sides; then, he soaked a rag in water and carefully began washing away the soot and ash from the boy’s face, revealing cheeks as cold and pale as the moon. 

Standing there, it was hard not to sense the creeping fingers of despair reaching for him, threatening to choke all hope out of him. But what he felt instead was a warm hand falling to his arm, pulling him back from the brink, as only it could. He turned, letting himself wade into the shallows of his wife’s eyes.

Slowly, she lowered her hand to hold his wrist, and he looked down to see the ledger crumpled in his trembling fist, his knuckles flashing white. He slackened his grip and let out a trapped breath, allowing Satiah to take the papyrus out of his hand; she folded it in half and laid it on an empty slab nearby. When she came back, she fit herself tight against him, her chin resting on his shoulder. His heart beat to life again at the feel of her breath warming his throat. After a quiet moment, he turned and encircled her in a firm embrace, one hand threaded into her hair, the other locked around her shoulders.

“I don’t want to lose you, Sati,” he whispered into her ear. Then, at the end of his breath, the truth came out: _“I can’t.”_

Another sigh fluttered across the nape of his neck, and suddenly she was pulling away, turning a sober gaze up to him. “I know, my love.” She held his face in her hands a moment, then reached up to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear. “But I am not your possession, Atem. I never have been. You can’t _lose_ me just as much as you can’t _own_ me.” The words felt strange cradled between the soft melody of her voice and the subtle curve of her lips. “Either we’re in this together, or we’re alone.”

She looked out over the darkening chamber, and for some reason he knew she didn’t mean just him and her. She meant all of them — the dead and the living; the sinners and the innocent; the weak and the strong.

This was their duty as king and queen — to let their purpose be guided by collective justice. But as he looked upon his wife, Atem couldn’t help but wonder what their life would have been like had they never been forced to accept such a responsibility — if they’d had the freedom to live for no one but themselves. Perhaps they would have followed the path fate had set for them, to be quiet stewards of Ineb-Hedj, with the hope their future children would one day come to rule it justly and fairly. Or perhaps they would have been content to keep one another at arm’s length, never drawn together by their shared pain. Would he have fallen in love with her if he’d never seen her resilience and strength? Her grace and perseverance? And would she have accepted him if he’d never restored her _ka?_

As if sensing his thoughts, Satiah looked back at him, her eyes veiled and guarded. She took his hand in hers and gave it a light squeeze. “I suppose this means we don’t have the luxury of delaying our last descent,” she said.

With a deep breath, Atem nodded.

She gave a dry hum of understanding. “And when shall we go to meet our creator?”

Atem looked back across the somber chamber. A man and a woman now stood beside the body of the child, weeping silently as a priest recited a prayer over their fallen son.

“In five days’ time,” Atem said. “When the sun reaches its peak.”

* * *

At dusk on the eve of their final descent, Satiah found herself wracked by an unfamiliar fear.

Her body trembled as she stared out the window of the residence, her eyes wide and dry from watching the shadow of night slowly climbing up Khufu’s pyramid. Anxiety wrung her stomach in its hands, sending chills up and down her spine and a cold sweat collecting on her brow.

As her mind raced with thoughts of what would await them in the Father’s tomb, she found herself both tempered and tormented by the absence of her husband, who’d been called away some hours ago to address a pressing issue regarding the city’s battered defenses. Satiah was glad not to burden Atem with her worries, but equally, she longed for the comfort of his embrace. 

When the door to the residence suddenly creaked open, Satiah stood at attention and turned to look down the dark stairway, somewhat relieved to see Tuya coming up, bearing a tray of food in her hands. 

Tuya smiled softly as she approached, giving a light bow. “The king sends his regrets that he’ll be unable to join you for dinner, my queen,” she said. “Would you like your meal in here or out on the terrace?”

Satiah let out a sharp sigh. “The terrace is fine,” she replied.

Tuya curtseyed again and swept out onto the terrace; Satiah followed, her nose filling with the trailing scent of fresh food. Though her stomach panged with emptiness, the constant twisting and turning in her gut made thoughts of even the most appetizing dishes seem suddenly unpalatable. 

As Tuya placed the tray down and turned back, it seemed she sensed Satiah’s unease. “My queen, you look ill,” Tuya said as Satiah came to stand beside the table. “Is something the matter?”

Satiah pursed her lips tight and shook her head. “Just nerves.”

Tuya hummed skeptically, then reached out to lift the cloche covering the main course on the tray, revealing a large cut of blackened chicken.

A cloud of steam wafted up to surround Satiah; the heavy scent assaulted her nose, sending an uncontrollable roil into the pit of her stomach. She tried to stifle the reflex that followed, but it was no use — spinning around, she staggered to the corner of the terrace and bent over a planter, retching the thin contents of her stomach into the dirt.

Halfway through her heaving, she felt Tuya’s hand at her back, rubbing lightly in circles. “There, there…”

With a shiver, Satiah spat the last of the foul-tasting acid onto the ground and straightened, turning to face her handmaiden.

“Nerves indeed!” Tuya hissed, leading Satiah back inside and lowering her to the stool by her vanity. “Let me look at you.” Tuya pressed a hand into Satiah’s forehead, and her cool fingers felt heavenly against the flushed skin. Suddenly, Tuya clicked her tongue, her shrewd eyes glinting. “When was the last time you had your blood, my dear?”

Satiah’s eyes grew wide, her mind wheeling with uncertainty. “I… I don’t—”

Just then, Tuya reached out and brushed her fingers against Satiah’s breast. Pain stung at the tender skin, causing Satiah to hiss sharply and reel back. Tuya snapped upright and clasped her hands over her heart. “My queen,” she breathed, “you are with child!”

Satiah felt another knot forming in her stomach, this one less visceral and more fearful, even as Tuya began to chitter with glee.

“What a blessed day!” Tuya exclaimed. “We must find the king at once—”

“No!”

As Tuya turned, Satiah shot her hand out and clamped it around her handmaiden’s wrist. Tuya looked back, utterly stunned. 

“The Pharaoh must not know,” Satiah pleaded. Seeing Tuya’s severe look, she went on: “Not until we return from Giza.” But Tuya remained conflicted, even as Satiah pulled her hand back and wrapped it around her tumbling stomach. “Please. Do this for me.”

Tuya’s face softened with pity, and she swept in to wrap Satiah in a light embrace. “Of course, my darling… Of course.”

At this, Satiah choked a sob into her handmaiden’s side, tears flowing out like the flooding Nile as reality finally set in. She had been hiding the truth from herself for weeks now — brushing off the flutters and the pain and the malaise, hoping that if she just kept moving forward, just kept diving headfirst into darkness, perhaps the light would never catch up with her.

* * *

Atem awoke with the sun, first fighting, then welcoming Ra’s light, which had finally succeeded in pulling him from his dark dreams.

Careful not to wake his wife, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his mind slowly losing its hold on the strange scenes which had plagued him through the night. He remembered walking through a thick marsh of reeds, emerging at the banks of the Nile. Its placid surface had been filled with the gold light of the noonday sun. Across the way, Satiah stood beneath a bent palm tree, her hands cupped around her mouth as if calling for him, though no sound reached his ears. Without hesitation, he’d waded out into the deeps, legs straining against the swift currents. But before he’d even made it halfway across, he looked down to see the water was completely gone, leaving nothing beneath his feet but a wide, black expanse, with an angry star pulsing at its center. He fell — plunging through weightless air, watching as his wife grew to no more than a flicker among the rushing darkness. Heat clawed at his back, and he turned, seeing the star beneath him turning into a pit of fire. As he surged toward it, dozens of arms unfolded themselves from within it — small, soft arms; unblemished and ghost-white — reaching up as if to welcome him to their embrace, but just before he collided with the blinding blaze, he’d awoken with a start.

Though these images seemed intent to escape his mind now that the haze of sleep was wearing off, the heat of the star remained. Just thinking about it warmed him to a state of discomfort, until a sheen of sweat had gathered in the valley of his spine and behind his knees. Carefully, he pulled the covers away from his lower half and made a move to sit up, only to jolt at the feel of a hand falling to his arm. He turned, greeted with Satiah’s wide eyes cast over her shoulder in his direction.

“Do you trust me?” she breathed.

He stared at her, and for a moment her eyes looked almost as empty as the void of blackness which had opened beneath him in his dreams. “Of course I do.”

Her hand gripped tighter, and Atem only just now noticed the weak tremble in it.

“Are you sure?”

Urgently, he shifted to embrace her, fitting himself against her back, one arm curling tight around her middle. Perhaps it was because his own skin was burning, but when Atem touched his cheek to hers, it felt cold as ice. Holding tighter, he moved his lips to her ear, where he hushed her lightly between pressing kisses into the nape of her neck. 

“I trust you, Sati,” he whispered, threading his fingers between hers where they lay trembling around her middle. “I promise.”

Atem held his wife for many long, quiet moments, sharing his warmth until her shivers settled and some semblance of peace returned to her. With his chin nestled into the curve of her neck, he gazed out the window across the room, watching as the sun threw its light against the capstone of the Great Pyramid, waiting for the moment when they would arrive to awaken the God within.


	40. Mirror

When Atem stepped into the shadow of the Great Pyramid, he had never been more relieved to escape the sun’s scorching wrath. With Ra’s eye at its peak, only a narrow strip of shade was cast on the north side of the pyramid, enough for no more than two people to stand shoulder to shoulder. As the convoy dismounted and started toward the center of the north face, Atem stole a glance to his right to see Satiah staring wide-eyed up at the capstone glinting overhead. He reached out and touched her arm, causing her to jolt and turn to him. She looked around a moment, almost as if she’d been awoken from a dream unexpectedly.

“Is everything alright?” he asked in a light whisper, pulling her eyes back to him.

She nodded, but the hollowness never left her gaze. He slid his hand down to grasp at her palm, holding it as tight as he had earlier that morning. He was relieved to feel her fingers close around his, even though her grip still had a slight tremble in it.

Slowly, he turned and started toward the tomb’s entrance, set neatly into the gentle slope of granite slabs running up the side of the pyramid. There, he took a torch from Seto, then bid goodbye to his advisors once again before sinking into the black chill within.

Khufu’s tomb was somehow even less inviting than his son’s and grandson’s. After squeezing down a narrow decline, the pathway steepened upward into the aptly named Grand Gallery, its angled roof rising up to a sharp apex overhead. The light from Atem’s torch licked at the jagged walls, painting ghostly images upon the stones with each step they took. 

Eventually, the orange glow pierced its way into the narrow opening of the King’s Chamber at the very top of the Gallery. The opening was small enough that Atem had to get onto all fours to edge his way through it; after surfacing in the burial chamber, he turned back to help Satiah upright as well.

He then cast his eyes around the understated resting place of the Father of Pharaohs. Khufu was the only one of his lineage to build his tomb  _ within  _ his pyramid, rather than carved from the bedrock below it. Whereas the tombs of his heirs felt close and stifling, Khufu’s had a strange precariousness to it — as if, with the slightest careless breath, the entire pyramid might come crashing down around them.

The entirety of the King’s Chamber was cased in granite, including the sarcophagus itself. Not a single etching or painting adorned any of the surfaces in the room, but two small niches were carved into the east and west walls, casting thin, angled rays of sunlight onto the coffin lid. 

Slowly, Atem made his way toward the Father’s sarcophagus, taking a moment to lower his torch to the ground beside it. As he straightened, he turned to Satiah and took her hand once more, gripping it tight. He wanted her to know — to understand that he had no intention of letting her go this time. But when she looked at him, her eyes were still empty, as if she were lost in the maze of her own thoughts.

With one last squeeze of her hand, Atem let out a long, slow breath before finding the will to utter his plea to Ra:

“‘Almighty Ra, creator and ender of all things — your fire consumes the impure and casts the world in shining truth. Let us bask beneath the Blaze of your glory, so that we may have the power to burn away the shadows.’”

Jaw clenched, fists tightened, eyes squeezed shut — Atem felt the vastness of the cosmos trying to cleave its way between him and Satiah, but he held firm, straining against his own plunging momentum to pull her even closer to him. Through the stretching and folding of time and space, he barely noticed the soft impact of his feet back on solid ground; it was only when Satiah’s weight threatened to buckle his knees that he opened his eyes to find them met with thick, unending darkness.

Staggering upright, he backed away from Satiah a few inches, looking into her eyes long enough to make sure she was unharmed. Her face was cast in a soft glow from the only light source among the cavernous blackness; her eyes sharpened as they focused on it, leading Atem to turn and look upon it as well. Several yards away and suspended some two stories overhead, a large, metallic sphere shone warm against the oppressive dark. 

Strange shapes and symbols decorated the surface of the orb, and from each deep groove, light seeped out — strong enough to illuminate the ground before them, but only just. Instead, the bulk of its glow ran into a concentrated stream at the bottom of the sphere, trickling down like molten rain to surround another flat, round object standing upright on the floor beneath it. The light created a soft halo around the object, and as Atem looked upon it, he was first reminded of an eclipse — as if the object were trying to  _ steal _ the sphere’s light for its own. But after two brave steps toward it, Atem was able to glimpse something within the flat plane: his own reflection — clearer than he’d ever seen in polished bronze, but darker than it had any right to be.

Atem was surprised when he felt Satiah leave his side. She took three more long strides toward the huge mirror, stopping nearly within arm’s length of it. Atem followed close, casting his eyes around the black expanse as if it might hold some secret other than his own shaded form staring back at him. Standing in its shadow, he could feel the warmth from the sphere overhead — fierce, but gentle, like coals left behind after a raging fire.

Atem was so rapt by the sphere, he almost didn’t notice a subtle movement in the center of the mirror before him. A single ripple swept across the flat surface, wiping away his reflection and replacing it with a new image: a vast, empty sky stretched out over a broken cityscape, marred with crumbling buildings and monuments. Then, as if the mirror had a will of its own, the image began to move — sweeping further out over the shattered land like a bird soaring on an updraft. As the city drew closer, the familiar landmarks of Thebes began to take shape: the parapets of Karnak, half-collapsed and stained with heretical graffiti; the market district, its stalls abandoned and fires snuffed out. Above it all, a blood-red sun glowed hot and unyielding, baking the stone and mudbrick until they were nothing but melting mirages.

Atem flinched as another ripple scattered itself across the surface of the mirror, purging the image of the city and replacing it with a view of the countryside at high noon. Rows of thin wheat stalks lay wilting among the rolling hills, with dozens and dozens of ailing farmers bent over to reap what little healthy crop they could. The fields were patrolled by menacing soldiers bearing whips and canes; Atem watched in horror as an elderly worker collapsed in the dirt, only to be beaten mercilessly by the soldiers until he rose to resume his work.

Another ripple, and this time the view of the city returned. The image began sweeping back through the sunbaked streets and giving glimpses of more toil and tyranny: priests lurking in shadows, using their  _ ka _ to terrorize civilians into submission; thieves and cutthroats bribing soldiers to let them plunder homes and holy houses. 

Finally, the image arrived at the entrance to the royal palace. Though it appeared relatively unscathed compared to the rest of the city, Atem could not help but feel a fist of dread pulling at his stomach as the image moved past the foremost pylons, winding through the dark palace halls until it entered the throne room — the only place seemingly untouched by scorching sunlight. Though the vague shape of the throne was visible against the writhing shadows, Atem could not see who sat upon it. Slowly, the image crawled toward the foot of the dias, but the darkness grew only thicker, closing in around the mirror until all Atem could see was his shaded reflection again.

Heart hammering, he turned to look at Satiah, whose face was painted with the same uncertainty that twisted in his core. He opened his mouth to speak but found his attention drawn back to the mirror at the sight of another ripple sweeping across it. He thought his eyes were cheating him when his reflection began to move on its own — first just a subtle shift, as if it had taken a deep breath. But then, the silhouette drew closer, falling into a steady, purposeful gait until it broke  _ through _ the very surface of the mirror, willing itself into existence like a god descended from the heavens.

A sword of fear drove into Atem’s heart as he looked upon his own living, breathing reflection. The shadow resembled him perfectly in almost every way, except for faint, uncanny disparities — lips turned up with a crazed smirk, eyes glowing a deeper, almost crimson hue. A cloak in a similar bloody shade cascaded down his shoulders, framing a black tunic and  _ shendyt, _ all trimmed in radiant gold.

The reflection paused for a fleeting moment on the threshold of the mirror, then resumed his swift approach. Instinctively, Atem sidestepped in front of Satiah and backed away just as quickly. At this, the spectre stopped and sneered.

“Who are you?” Atem demanded, his voice swallowed up by the vast darkness.

The shadow’s sneer turned to a smirk. “Who am  _ I?” _ he repeated, as if he were considering it for the first time. “I … am your destiny.”

Atem froze up, his mind unwilling to follow where the words desperately wanted to lead him. But his reflection smiled on, looking back over his shoulder as the mirror displayed more images of cruelty and despotism — farmlands laid waste by plague and famine, holy lands pillaged, citizens forced into slavery.

“No,” Atem gasped, giving a weak shake of his head. “No, I don’t believe it. I would never—”

His shadow barked a laugh as he faced forward again. His lips remained cut through with a manic smile. “This is the fate you are bound for,” he declared, voice booming with conviction. “This is the truth of your birthright — the testament to your legacy.” 

The spectre pivoted forward yet another step, extending his hand as if in a welcoming gesture. Atem continued his cautious backsteps, but his mind drew blank with fear, his dry mouth failing to form words.

“The Gods would not lie to you,” his reflection continued, as if reading Atem’s mind, “nor would your own heart. Look inside yourself. You know it to be true.”

Atem winced at the feel of a hand falling to his shoulder. Satiah swept forward and put herself between him and his menacing shadow. “Don’t listen to him,” she said in a low voice. “He speaks only lies. I know your heart. I have seen it—”

_ “Silence!” _

Over Satiah’s shoulder, Atem glimpsed a bright flash radiating from the Pendant around the spectre’s neck. A bolt of light streaked forth to pierce Satiah’s middle, causing her to cry out in pain and stagger forward. 

“Satiah!”

Atem caught her, but her weight began dissipating instantly in his arms. Her eyes rolled back into her head, her corporeal form turning hazy and white, like  _ ka _ returning to the aethereal plane. But instead of dispersing to nothingness, the wisps of her spirit were drawn downward, flowing like a stream into the Eye of Wadjet carved on his own Millennium Pendant. Atem grasped at the empty air where she’d just stood, then curled his hands into fists.

“What have you done with her?!” he cried, returning his eyes to the reflection before him.

The spectre bared his teeth in a ruthless grin. “Fret not,” he said. “She will be safe and sound within the room of your heart.”

The fear and dread and uncertainty that had been creeping in Atem’s core soon clawed itself into wrathful consternation. “What do you want from me?” he shouted. “What tribute does the Almighty One demand?”

Again, the reflection raised a hand to point in Atem’s direction. “Only this: that you accept your fate, and embrace your future as you have seen it.”

Atem dug his fingers further into his palms, remembering with searing rebuke the sights shown to him in the black mirror. It seemed impossible —  _ unthinkable _ that his reign might ever amount to such cruelty and ruination. And yet, a familiar guilt still tugged at the back of his mind — memories of Memphis, burning hot under the setting sun.

With a sharp grit of his teeth, he forced himself to rise above the weight sinking in his soul. “No,” he declared, the syllable short enough to conceal the waver in his voice. “I refuse.”

Another measured laugh rippled out from his reflection. “Whether you resist or submit makes no difference,” he said. “You cannot defy your own fate. It is the will of the God who made you.” The spectre raised both arms now, looking over his shoulder toward the sphere which hovered above the black mirror. “Come — meet your Creator, and let yourself be judged by his Light.”

At this, the sphere shuddered wildly, filling the void with dissonant sounds as it began to crimp and coil, sections breaking free to form new, sweeping shapes. Atem watched in awe as two wings unfurled, revealing the regal head of a falcon, rearing and framed by a gilded halo. Fierce arms and legs stretched out from Ra’s body, beset with talons long enough to impale a man. With a beat of its mighty wings and a flick of its long tail, the God Creator steadied itself effortlessly as it came to hover before its presumptive master.

Atem’s eyes began to water as he gazed upon the God’s radiance. He forced himself to look away at the sound of his shadow’s amused laughter. 

“Atem son of Aknamkanon, Wielder of the Millennium Pendant, Chosen Sovereign, Blood of the New Kings…” The reflection lifted his hand to point accusingly across the arena. “Accept your destiny … or be cleansed by Ra’s Holy fire.”

In the heat of the Almighty One, the doubts left lingering in Atem’s mind quickly melted away. Instead, a familiar pain trickled white-hot down from the top of his skull — the rageful defiance of his captured Gods. They thrashed angrily, mournfully in the pit of his soul, both begging and resisting the call of their Creator.

But when Ra parted its jaws to let loose an earth-defying cry, the challenge could no longer be ignored. Atem reached up and felt the emptiness in his heart filled instantly with the might of the heavens. Osiris bled like a wound into the blackness, red scales turned to gold sparks in the God Creator’s light. Its great length curled and coiled overhead — poised to deliver the wrath of its new master.

“You are a fool if you think Death can prevail over Life,” his reflection scoffed, raising his hand toward the Almighty One. “Ra! I beseech you — burn away our weakness!”

Again, Ra opened its hooked beak, gathering cosmic light between its jaws. Staring into the blinding flare, Atem felt as though his skin were already turning to ash. Bravely, he thrust his hand out to his own God-servant. “Osiris! Do what you must to protect our future!”

A haunting scream rose up to join the roar of flame, followed soon after by the deep crackle of lightning. Then, in an instant, streaks of red and gold soon consumed Atem’s vision, until he was forced to wince away and cover his eyes as the ancient magic of his forefathers collided in a proliferous cataclysm. The sounds were shrill and dulcet; deafening and silent. Heat clawed and caressed him; maimed and nurtured him. He could feel his spirit eroding away — purging from him like a fever purges sickness — and he knew his God was failing him. Life was indeed conquering Death, as certain as the sun breaks through the clouds.

Then, the omnipotence of the Gods shrank back on itself like a collapsing star. The force incinerated what little strength Atem had left, pulling him sharply to his hands and knees. Through sweat-soaked eyes, he looked up to see clouds of rippling heat consuming Osiris, turning its regal hide to cinders — inch by inch and scale by scale. 

His heart would have burnt with it, if not for what he saw across the arena: dealt a great blow by its Holy brethren, Ra smoldered and smoked, screeching its pain as it crumpled into a writhing heap on the ground.

In the same way, Atem’s reflection doubled over, clutching to himself and shivering as though the entirety of this world hadn’t just been set aflame. Seizing his chance, Atem staggered to his feet, clinging to any shred of hope he could find in the face of these insurmountable odds. Even from across the arena, Atem could see his shadow’s eyes flying wide, teeth clenched tight in a grimace of disbelief. 

“Impossible!” the reflection cried. “How  _ dare _ you continue to defy your Creator!” 

Atem lengthened his stance in a weak attempt to brace himself, but his legs shook beneath him, his chest gripped by desperate, ragged breaths.

With equal effort, the spectre straightened and reached out to Ra’s shuddering form. “Our future depends upon your defeat,” he muttered with venom. “If I must offer up my essence to bring about this reality … then it is a price I will happily pay.”

Though his vision slid in and out of focus, Atem saw clearly the moment Ra’s flame lashed out to touch the spectre’s outstretched hand, igniting his flesh as effortlessly as a spark among dried tinder. The fire ripped its way down the shadow’s arm and across his chest; as he cried out, Atem, too, felt pain raking like hot coals across his core. The sound of the spectre’s tortured screams was almost enough to drain what remained of Atem’s will, but bravely, he held onto his consciousness — long enough to see his reflection’s molten essence drawn into the body of the God still sprawled on the floor of the arena. The fire soon consumed it too — streaks of orange and white and blazing blue running together and curling outward in hungry bursts, searching for more lifeblood to feed its ceaseless inferno. 

Like a phoenix from the ashes, Ra rose again, given new life by the sacrifice of its master. With a meteoric cry, the Immortal God dipped its head in preparation to inflict its final, unerring judgment.

Atem lifted a hand, at first intending to call upon another  _ ka, _ in the hopes it might protect him from the coming conflagration. Instead, he thrust his palm into his chest and took hold of his Millennium Pendant. A warm echo eminanted from within it — a sweet, sonorous sound, like a bell being struck to ring for all eternity.

And though the heat of a thousand suns threatened to rend his spirit to pieces, a smile came freely to his lips.


	41. Joy

When air finally tore into Satiah’s lungs, she felt as if she’d been born again.

She surged to a sitting position, her head craning wildly as she tried to familiarize herself with her alien surroundings. No matter which way she looked, strange shadows crept and crawled, framed by dull, angular shapes. She finally forced herself to settle her breathing — and her gaze — and slowly, the structures around her came into clearer focus.

Stairs.

Hundreds and hundreds of stairs — some leading up, some down, some sideways or completely inverted — forming a grotesque, crisscrossing labyrinth of limestone. Each twisting path eventually led to a cold iron door, but like the stairs, they decorated the walls and floors and ceilings without any regard for the laws of nature.

With another shuddering breath, Satiah pushed herself to her feet, turning in a tight circle as though she might somehow recognize one of the paths that lay before her. She worked her jaw up and down, trying to will herself to call out for help. But she feared what force might respond if she did. Would it be the warm voice of her husband, leading her to safety? Or would his dark reflection try to deceive her, beckoning her deeper into this jagged maze to be lost and alone forever?

In the end, Satiah found no words — nor did they find her. Instead, a warmth pierced like an arrow through the empty chill — so present and palpable and she could almost _see_ it: a string of fate, meandering between the slopes and rises, showing her the way to some unknown but indisputable truth.

Against her better judgment, Satiah followed the warmth — trekked slowly up winding stairs and through narrow hallways, past unwelcoming doors and precarious ledges. There was something eerily familiar about this glow which led her onward — like the scent of dawn on the first day of harvest, or the feel of crease in a well-worn letter. It reminded her faintly of her husband, but there was something older and deeper about it, as if it were woven with the wisdom of millennia.

Finally, after turning a sharp corner, Satiah arrived at a closed door. On it, a great, wide eye stared back at her, carved deep into the black iron and left to rust in shades of green and orange. She lowered her hand to the metal ring, then braced herself and pulled. The heavy iron groaned as it swung open, and after her eyes had adjusted to a flare of harsh light, Satiah was met with strikingly familiar sight: the royal gardens, stretching out before her as clear and true as the day she’d left them two months prior.

She knew just by the tinge of the sky that it was midmorning — the golden hour for enjoying leisure time in the gardens, when the sun warmed the air but had yet to breach the palace walls with its unforgiving heat. Just looking into the bending palms and blooming flowers threatened to stir up nostalgic tears behind her eyes. She remembered with a wanting ache the many mornings she’d walked between the flora and fauna with her husband, their voices quiet but hearts singing in a full, resonant harmony.

Perhaps it was this melody which pulled her into step again — sweet, silent notes braiding into the string of fate that was already wrapped around her middle, tugging her deeper into rows of pristine hedges. She felt herself called toward the Sacred Lake — the place where she and Atem had first begun their lifelong bond. When she emerged from a thick line of trees and set her eyes upon the Lake, her heart leapt to see a shaded form reclining on the far edge. The form’s aura and posture struck Satiah as instantly familiar, but if she had seen this person before, it had not been in the land of the living.

As if sensing her presence, the form turned, bringing a mature, feminine face into the soft glow of morning. Satiah studied it intently: refined cheekbones, sophisticated brow, narrow eyes — all framed by an unmistakable pattern of crimped blonde fringe and sweeping black curls. Upon her regal head sat a simple but dignified circlet, molded with the Eye of Wadjet.

The woman smiled, then lifted a hand to gesture toward Satiah, who willingly followed the gentle beckon around the edge of the Lake. As she came within arm’s reach, Satiah met the woman’s eyes — misted the same shade of violet as her husband’s and glistening like lotus petals in the dewy light.

“You are the queen,” Satiah whispered.

The woman’s cheeks rose up even higher. “And so are you.” Satiah flushed, the heat burning deeper when Queen Meresankh reached out and took her hand. “Come, darling — sit with me.”

Like soft clay, Satiah let herself be guided down to the edge of the Lake beside the queen mother. They gazed at one another for many long moments, and though thousands of words gathered on the tip of Satiah’s tongue, none of them found their way out of her mouth. Instead, she gave a light clear of her throat, prompting Meresankh to lift a finger to her own lips.

“Shh,” she hissed, looking over her shoulder. “Here they come.”

Satiah leaned outward, squinting through the tangled brush behind the queen mother. There, twittering laughter rose up into the humid air, followed soon after by an eruption of leaves and flower petals as two children burst heedlessly into the quiet clearing.

Bittersweet delight tumbled in Satiah’s stomach as she watched the young princes chasing one another in circles, their voices ringing out in a chorus of carefree amusement. Each wielded a play sword made of bound and bundled reed stalks, which they cracked together in wild abandon at every opportunity. Even now, Tefnak stood much taller than his younger brother, perhaps already a teen, but Atem did not let his small stature hold him back — he swung his sword bravely, as if nothing in the world could touch him.

But then, Tefnak’s eyes glinted, and with a wicked smirk he cocked his arm back, whipping the rigid bundle of reeds across his younger brother’s wrist. Atem cried out and dropped his sword, pulling his arm in to cradle it against his middle. When Atem began to sniffle and whine, Tefnak, too, dropped his weapon and swept in to take his younger brother’s shoulders. “Oh, please don’t cry Atem!” he hissed, peering fearfully over his shoulder to where his mother sat. “It’s not that bad! You’re fine!”

But the dam couldn’t hold — the younger boy was soon consumed by full, keening tears. At this, Meresankh cleared her throat, causing Tef to straighten and turn fully. “Boys,” the queen mother called. “Come here.”

Face aglow with shame, Tef took his brother’s shoulder, and they both shuffled forward to stand before their mother. Neither boy seemed to pay Satiah any mind, and though Atem had since tempered his sobs, she couldn’t help but feel a slight lash of pity as she watched him clutching his hand to his chest.

Meresankh dipped down to catch her youngest son’s eyes. “Let me see,” she said, holding out her hand.

Atem sniffled and laid his wrist in his mother’s palm. Meresankh tutted lightly and caressed the reddening skin, then leaned down to give it a gentle kiss.

“That will be quite the bruise tomorrow,” she said. “But you’ll be alright. Won’t you, my little soldier?”

Atem bit his lip to keep it from trembling, then nodded decisively. When he took his hand away, he rubbed his eyes to clear them of his tears.

“Good.” The queen mother leaned up and addressed her elder son now. “Tefnak, apologize to your brother.”

Tef’s face twisted into a slight sneer. “But I didn’t do it on purpose, Mama!”

“Then it will mean all the more when you tell him you’re sorry.”

Satiah found her cheeks tugging with a smile at the woman’s stern tone. She’d always assumed Atem had inherited his steady resolve from his father, but it seemed a firm hand came just as effortlessly to the queen mother as well.

Tef clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, Atem,” he said in a begrudging grumble.

Atem looked up at his older brother, his eyes shining with undimmed adoration. “It’s alright,” he murmured, voice no louder than the peep of a tree frog. “I forgive you.”

A knowing smile broke on Meresankh’s lips. “There,” she said. “Now both of you run along. And be more careful, hm?”

Both boys nodded, then turned and skittered back to their play swords. Tef stooped and picked up both of them, put his arm around his little brother’s shoulder, and led the way deeper into the maze of hedges beyond.

Turning back to Satiah, Meresankh let out a deep, wistful sigh. “I prayed to the gods my second child would be a girl.” Her smile widened, and Satiah couldn’t help but mirror it. “But in the end I’m glad those prayers went unanswered. For the path of a woman’s life demands many more sacrifices than a man’s.”

Satiah lowered her eyes a bit, letting the words sink into her heart. It was true, the path of her own life would have been virtually _free_ of struggles had she been born a man. And yet, without those struggles, it was possible she might never have known her greatest love.

“Tell me, my dear,” the queen mother said, pulling Satiah’s attention back up. “What made you decide to embrace motherhood?”

Satiah felt another blush spreading on her cheeks as she stared into Meresanhk’s nebulous eyes. “Your son…” she started, voice thickened by tenderness. “He has been good to me. He … He has shown me love.”

The queen mother reached out and took Satiah’s hand again, laying it lightly in her lap. “I am so very glad to hear that,” she said, brushing her thumb across Satiah’s fingers. Meresankh was quiet for a moment, and when she returned her eyes to Satiah, there was a serious glow to them. “But there must be something more,” she pressed. “After all, becoming a mother often demands the greatest of sacrifices.”

At this, Satiah felt a flutter deep in her core. She pulled her hand instinctively out of Meresankh’s grasp and pressed it into her middle, but the feeling was already gone, replaced by empty sorrow. “I saw something in him,” Satiah whispered. “A future. Filled with peace … and joy.” She dropped her hand away from her waist. “Perhaps it was just a foolish dream.”

“Maybe,” the queen mother agreed. Her voice was soft — almost musical. “But perhaps it was not.”

Satiah smoothed her lips together, pinching her teeth down hard to stave off encroaching tears. Her mind was haunted by the dark images she’d seen in Ra’s black mirror, but the grace of the queen mother seemed to outshine even the light of the Almighty One.

“Our empire was built on the selflessness of brave women like yourself,” Meresankh went on, sweeping her eyes around the garden. “Women who have given every bit of their bodies and souls to the betterment of this nation — this kingdom ruled by men. Most of those men, even the most noble ones, can never fully comprehend such sacrifice. So we must take it upon ourselves to show them.” 

The queen mother reached out and dipped her hand into the waters of the Sacred Lake. The surface broke in gentle ripples, and Satiah watched as her own reflection bent and shattered. 

“Even still, they may not see our worth until after we are gone.” Meresankh pulled her hand back to run her fingers along a lotus drifting by. “Only then will they ask themselves what they have lost.” 

The queen mother plucked the lotus, then turned and offered it to Satiah. When she took it, another flutter rose deep inside her. 

“The best we can hope for is that they remember the lessons we taught them,” Meresankh continued, “and that they cherish the memories we become.”

When Satiah looked back up at the queen mother, the sun was beginning to crest the palace walls behind her, surrounding her in a warm halo of light. But as Ra’s eye ascended, it seemed to grow only larger and larger, until it hung like a bleeding, beating heart over the gardens, warping the air with oppressive heat.

Panicked, Satiah looked down just in time to see the lotus turning to ash in her hands. She sucked in a breath of hot air and reached out, but the queen mother was already withering away. The illusion melted along with her, all the color and beauty of the world running into a river of radiant light, rushing forth to submerge Satiah in the molten gold of Ra’s fire.

* * *

Staring into the blinding truth of death, Atem could not understand why euphoria suddenly gripped him. He thought at first it was denial — rising up like a shield before him, casting off his pain and replacing it with utter contentment. But when the blinding flare of calamity suddenly dimmed, he finally realized where his joy was coming from: still clutched in his trembling hands, his Pendant sang another sonorous note and sent forth white mist that cleaved a void through the God’s light before it could engulf him. 

Given respite from the inferno, Atem opened his eyes fully to see the mist coalescing into the familiar shape of his wife, standing tall behind her _ka_. The blaze broke hard on the Shieldmaiden, and though the creature buckled and writhed, she did not falter; her mighty shield cut through the flames like the hull of a ship through rushing water.

The rapture in Atem’s heart turned quickly to reflexive fear when he saw Satiah weakening before him, her arms trembling as she kept them raised to channel her _ka_ . Fighting the pain gripping his own body, he staggered forward and draped himself over her shoulders, bracing her against him and clinging supportively to her arms. He surrendered to her the last sliver of his essence — strengthening her long enough to withstand the firestorm crashing upon her _ka_. They breathed together — one heart, one spirit, one truth — until, at last, the God relinquished its judgment, breaking free to leave them in perfect darkness.

Her _ka_ burnt to cinders, Satiah collapsed in an instant, and the most Atem could manage was to soften her fall as he came crashing to his knees along with her. Gathering the remnants of her strength, she turned in his arms, and Atem felt hope entering his battered spirit when he saw a smile take her lips. She reached up, gripping tenuously to his face as if to ensure she wasn’t simply dreaming. Atem smiled back and cradled her against him, reassuring her with his loving embrace that she was here, she was safe, she was home. 

But as he gazed down at her, harsh light lit her face again, and he looked over his shoulder to see the Immortal Phoenix sweeping back through the darkness. He braced himself, but the God sailed over their heads in a steep arc, stopping to hover in stillness above the black mirror once more. There, the Almighty One extinguished its flames and returned to the protection of its golden sphere, where it had once slumbered peacefully for millennia.

After a moment of deafening calm, a soft light pulsed outward from the sphere; as it cascaded over Atem, he felt it restore the vigor of his _ba_. Satiah, too, found her strength again, enough to pull herself out of his arms and settle forward on her knees.

Renewed and alert, Atem wondered if perhaps this wave of peace heralded their victory — that Ra had been pacified, and their quest to secure the three Holy _Ka_ was finally at its end. And yet, he and Satiah remained trapped in the God’s domain, basking in its merciful glow like supplicants. He knew there must be something more — that they had yet to fulfil the conditions demanded of them by the Almighty One.

Spurned, Atem struggled to his feet, casting his eyes up to the sphere floating overhead. “Holy Creator,” he cried out. “I beg of you. Commit yourself to our cause. We need your strength to defeat the evil rising in our kingdom.”

Silence once again gripped the chamber. Behind, Atem heard Satiah staggering to her feet as well. When she came to stand at his side, the sphere gave a gentle lurch, shining another beam of light upon both of them.

Then — the voice of the Almighty One threw itself into the deep: “My Light cannot be wielded in hands stained by Darkness.”

Atem felt his breath halting in the wake of his Creator’s words, but he forced himself to reply. “I have rejected the Darkness in my heart,” he called back. “I swear allegiance only to the Light.”

More silence. As the void threatened to close in, Atem found himself suddenly more desperate than he’d been even with Ra’s immortal blaze bearing down on him. He refused to believe that he’d failed — refused to accept that all the pain, all the suffering, all the spiteful defiance had been for nothing.

“Please,” he gasped, thin and mournful. “Tell me what I must do.” Fearing tears might seize him, he turned his eyes down to the floor like a scolded child. 

The sphere gave another soft tremble. “Atem, son of Aknamkanon,” Ra declared. “If you wish to defeat the Darkness set free by your kin, you must first give to me everything which your cursed Millennium Items gave to you.” The Creator gave a contemptuous, scornful pause. “Offer up to me your birthright. Your legacy.”

At this, Atem looked up, finding his eyes drawn not to the God’s light, but to the mirror below it — the abyssal plane from which his dark reflection had emerged. As he gazed into its depths, a sudden grinding noise rose up; the mirror slowly began to sink into the floor, peeling itself away from the golden sun behind it like a slow-moving eclipse. When the mirror was gone, Atem squinted into the familiar flare left behind, and he was suddenly reminded of the wrathful star from his dream the night before — how it had reached for him with wanting arms and taken him into its fiery grasp.

“I don’t understand,” he called out, looking up at his Creator again. “Would you have me relinquish my title as Pharaoh?”

The words seemed to force resentfully from his mouth, as sharp and bitter as knives. Every fiber of his being rejected this fate — this truth that would take from him of everything he had toiled these many long months to achieve. Why would the Almighty One grant him its blessing, only to strip him of the strength needed to wield it? Who would lead his people against the Darkness if he was forced to step aside?

Just then, Satiah’s hand fell softly to his shoulder. He turned to look upon his wife, her face set aglow in the lingering shine of his tears. But whereas his heart was spilling over with despair, her eyes seemed lightened by hope and purpose. She stepped into him, her hands rising to cradle his face, and she kissed him as softly as a mother kisses her sleeping child.

When she pulled back, she smiled, and Atem found himself paralyzed by the sight. Nothing but his wide eyes followed as she moved away, toward the sun, and though he reached and called and _begged_ for her to turn back, Ra’s light soon opened up to welcome her into an eternal embrace.

Behind her, the sun bloomed out to consume every inch of his vision. Shamefully, he turned away, into the safe arms of darkness.

🞃

☀

🞁

When Atem regained his mind, he felt as though an eternity had passed. He awoke to the muddled sound of water, lapping at his ears and all around his body, and the rich scent of fertile earth. Sunlight beat down on him, though it was not the torrid flame which had threatened to engulf him in Ra’s domain — simply a warm and welcoming glow.

The sensations enveloping him were blissful enough that he felt no desire to rouse himself from this dreamscape — and likely wouldn’t have, if not for thoughts of his wife finally returning to his mind.

Satiah.

When last he saw her, she was walking fearlessly into the burning star at the heart of Khufu’s pyramid. He remembered calling for her, reaching for her — but had he truly followed in her footsteps, or had he been caught in Ra’s flames, his spirit burnt to cinders in its wake?

At this thought, he opened his eyes. The sky was painted with the warm white brushstrokes of the sun, stretched like a thousand arms from the glowing orb directly overhead. At the edges of his vision, an endless sea of reed stalks rose up, their feathery tufts waving welcome as a breeze sifted through them. Slowly, Atem sat up, feeling cool water trickling down his scalp and wetting the front of his tunic. After rising fully to his feet, he cast his gaze around the rest of the surreal landscape. 

The golden reeds wove on and on, as far as the eye could see, deep into a mist that diffused the edges of the world into nothingness. Here and there, sloping hills rose up over the ankle-deep water, only to dip back down to shallow pools that flashed placid white in the sun. Over a few of these low lagoons, palm trees stood like silent sentries.

Atem settled his eyes on the next nearest oasis, lifting a hand to shade his brow from the glare of the sun. His heart tumbled to see a familiar figure standing beneath a palm tree, a flicker of white linen and ashen hair lifted by the breeze.

Satiah turned, and even from what seemed like an eternity away, Atem could see the smile dancing on her face.

He felt himself called in her direction, as if nothing in this world or the next could keep them apart. But the closer he drew, the more it seemed as though a stranger had taken her place, somewhere between the minutes or hours or years since he’d seen her last. But she smiled again as he came within reach, and he knew this was his wife — the woman to whom fate had tethered him, like the moon to the sun.

“What is this place?” he asked.

Satiah let her gaze drift across the neverending horizon. “A’aru,” she said. “The field of reeds.”

Atem refused to look away from her, fearing she might burn off like morning mist if he did. “Am I dreaming?”

“In a way.” She turned back to him, and the breeze blew a glint of sunlight across her face. “This is what your future could look like — should you choose to accept it.”

A familiar fear shuddered through him. “I don’t understand,” he confessed. “If this is my afterlife … then why are you here?”

Her smile grew. “Oh, my dear,” she said, reaching out to graze his cheek with her fingers. _“You_ are the visitor in this realm.”

The truth of her touch pierced him like a knife. “No,” he breathed. “That cannot be. The God spoke to us. He demanded my birthright. My—”

“Your legacy?”

He heard it first — laughter, high and quiet as the thinnest string of a lyre, barely audible over the trickle of water around their ankles. Still, Atem refused to look away, even as Satiah turned her head toward the sound. But without the beacon of her eyes, the pull was too strong — his gaze was soon drawn with fearful wonder to the water’s edge. There, under the ripple of sun and shade, all the best pieces of him and his wife wove together into flesh and bone and spirit — at first no more than a wisp of her honeyed skin and his wild hair, but growing, growing, growing with every passing moment, into something — someone.

Atem squeezed his eyes shut, sending unbidden tears cascading down his cheeks. He could feel Ra’s fire reaching for him, lashing at his back, threatening to burn away this future.

Then — the torrent of Satiah’s touch extinguished the God’s wrath. She held Atem’s face in both her hands, drawing his eyes back to her.

“Do not be afraid of this joy,” she whispered, “even if it will be years before you feel it.”

Atem choked back his sorrow and encircled her in his arms, pulling until her forehead was resting against his. “What about all the other joys?” he hissed. “What about the years we were supposed to spend together? This fate was not meant for you.”

Her lips turned up into a pitying smile. “Such pride does not become you, my love.” Slowly, she took his hands away to cradle them against her middle. “All I ever wanted in this world was the freedom to follow my own will. When fate took that away from me … you gave it back.”

Atem held her hands like forged iron, in a grip that would surely have brought pain had this world been real.

 _“I_ made this choice,” she said, “not because of any god’s decree — but because I love you. And I truly believe you will be the one to balance the scales of truth and shadow.” She lifted her hand, brushing her fingers across his cheeks to wipe away his tears — one side, then the other. “I know that when the time comes, you will be ready to face the darkness in your heart. Maybe not today, maybe not in a year, maybe not for fifty years. But it is all I can do now to give you that time.”

Atem lowered his head, watching his own quiet tears falling into the earth. Satiah slipped her finger beneath his chin, and when he looked back up, he was almost blinded by her radiance.

“Yes, the gods are powerful,” she said. “And maybe, in the end, we are nothing to them. But we have something they do not. We have the gift of _life_. And the freedom to choose what to do with that gift.” She smiled again, and from this wellspring of her joy came everything meaningful in the world. “Perhaps it is the gods who are bound by fate, and we who are the ones with the power to change it.”

She lowered both hands to cradle the Pendant around his neck. He watched as she ran her fingers along the planes of gold, bringing forth another clear, resonant note.

“Always remember that this is your burden — not your blessing.”

Atem looked up at his wife again, and fate drew them together, into a kiss that felt as warm as the waters of creation. He held her there, pretending for just these few, infinite moments that he might still be able to change her will.

But then, another melody of laughter floated out from the shadow of the tree. Satiah pulled away, her cheeks rising up with a mirthful smile. She looked over her shoulder, and when the giggle grew louder, she moved to chase it.

“I’m coming!” she sang, and then she disappeared into the shadow, taking all the joy and warmth with her.

Darkness rose up all around, and soon Atem was plummeting back through the bulk of time and space, bound once again for his earthly realm. He could feel the heat of reality rushing up beneath him, but he kept his eyes upturned, watching the field of reeds growing smaller and smaller amongst the rushing cosmos. He wanted to scream — wanted to claw his way back through the heavens to the twinkling star where love and bliss had left him. But when his body collided with cold granite, he remembered again what it was to feel pain.

It paralyzed him — filled his lungs with furious, gulping breaths; wet his face with hot tears. If not for this visceral instinct to survive, he might have let himself lie beside the tomb of the Father for all eternity, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the sky to come crashing down again. Instead, his muscles flexed and sinew tightened against his will, turning his head to the side to see a crumpled nest of white linen nearby. 

Choking on sobs and bitter tears, Atem struggled to his hands and knees and crawled toward his wife, who lay beside him in perfect stillness. Gingerly, he rolled her onto her back. The way the flames from his dwindling torch danced upon her face made it look almost like she was still moving — dark lashes fluttering, lips preparing to turn up into a smile — that radiant, captivating smile. But when he took her into his arms, her shoulders collapsed inward and her head lolled back, like a puppet with its strings cut. She felt heavy and laden, as if she’d been hollowed out and filled with all his sins and regrets.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, he moved a hand to support her head — leaned down, brushed a kiss on her cold lips, and crunched a fist tight into a tangle of her hair. He felt himself rocking back and forth now, a sickening, circuitous motion, as though it might somehow send life back into her. 

The thought pulled a ragged moan from deep inside him. Unbidden, his hand fell away from her face, hovered for a moment over her heart, then sank down onto her middle. He pressed blindly into the still-warm flesh — flat-palmed and trembling, as if he were lost in a dark room, searching for light.

🞃

☀

🞁

> **AN:** Goodbye Satiah. You were the best character I've ever had the pleasure to write.


	42. Home

The sun was setting on Egypt by the time the convoy rode back into Memphis, and Atem wondered how it would ever rise again. He’d spent the slow ride watching the sky bleed red, unable to will himself to look at Ra’s stone slab, drawn behind the foremost horses and bearing the body of his beloved wife. Seto had wrapped her in his cloak, but the evening wind blew the white linen away, revealing her peaceful, pale face for all to see. The soldiers stole disbelieving glances as they marched, and the priests mourned in deafening silence. 

Atem had long since wept the last of his tears, his face dried by the arid desert breeze. When they finally arrived at the villa, he considered breaking away from the convoy — following the sun into the mountains, chasing Ra’s light so as to never let it set on Satiah’s last day. But when he laid eyes on her father, waiting intently with the rest of the Conclave outside the villa gates, it seemed as though night had already fallen. 

Atem drew his horse to a sudden stop, watching as Metjen stepped forward and scanned the convoy in search of his daughter. The earnestness in his eyes gave way to fear as his gaze fell to Atem. The look sent a lash of shame across Atem’s heart, causing him to drop his head and dismount. In his periphery, he saw Metjen pushing through the line of despondent soldiers, just as the horses drawing his daughter’s body came to a halt. From his mouth came a subtle sound — sharp and inward, as if he’d burnt himself on a smoldering ember. Voice thickened by this heavy gasp, he breathed a soft, _“No.”_

He repeated the word — over and over, his voice growing louder and louder — but Atem’s eyes had long since fallen to the ground, where he watched the sands shifting beneath his feet until the full weight of a father’s rage connected squarely with his jaw. Stunned, Atem stumbled back and landed flat against the ground, but in his numbness he felt neither the pain of the blow nor the impact of his fall — only the taste of bitter blood pooling on his tongue.

Blinking back stars, Atem tipped his chin down to watch as a storm of soldiers swarmed Metjen. “You were supposed to keep her _safe!”_ he shouted, thrashing against the hands holding him. “You were supposed to _protect_ my little girl!”

Atem made a move to stand up, aided swiftly in his effort by Seto and Mahad. He waved both off, then turned to the soldiers and did the same. With hesitance, they released Metjen, who jerked his shoulders and spun away immediately. He strode back to the slab and kneeled down hard at his daughter’s side, brushing a trembling hand across her cheek. She had since been surrounded by mourners — priests and former attendants to her household, including her handmaiden, who threw herself over the body of her ward, muffling keening cries into Satiah’s middle.

As Atem watched, a thin stream of blood dripped down and stained the front of his tunic. Swallowing hard, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then slipped past the gathering crowd and into the villa.

* * *

Day turned to night and then back into day, but Atem felt neither the setting of the moon nor the rising of the sun from beneath the Sekhmet’s temple. Priests had come and gone from the embalming chamber in a regular rotation, some to bestow blessings upon the queen’s body, others to simply observe their king’s ceaseless vigil. After some time, the Sacred Guardians came to pay their respects as well. Seto offered to sit for Atem and let him rest, but he’d dismissed all three of them with a wordless wave of his hand.

In his solitude, Atem studied Satiah’s face intently — memorizing each line and curve, storing the images deep in the recesses of his heart. It felt odd to think of her as dead, when no earthly thing had taken her life — there were no bloody wounds upon her body, no lingering signs of sickness. If not for the stillness of her breast, Atem might have thought she was simply sleeping. 

Even though he knew the embalmers would call it sacrilege, he reached out and stroked her cheek. The flesh was as cold as stone in the dead of night. 

At the sound of more footsteps descending the stairs, Atem at first had no intention of even taking his eyes away from his wife. But when Metjen stepped into the torchlight, Atem pulled his hand back as though he were a child caught stealing from a merchant’s stall. They locked eyes, and the burden of the father’s sorrow nearly suffocated Atem. 

Metjen stopped at the opposite side of the slab on which his daughter now rested; when he dropped his eyes to her body, Atem forced himself to steal a breath. Metjen reached out and laid his hand over his daughter’s. He stroked her knuckles and danced his eyes all across the slab, never stopping to look at any one part of her for more than a few seconds. All the while, a thin shimmer gathered along his sparse lashes.

“Tuya tells me she was with child,” he said softly. When Atem failed to reply, Metjen looked up. Two tears escaped the prison of his eyes, only to be lost somewhere deep within the lines carved on his face. “Did you know?”

Atem shook his head lightly, even though his heart screamed that it was a lie. How could he not have known, when he’d seen the glow of new life behind her eyes every time she looked at him?

Metjen inhaled sharply. “She gave you _everything,”_ he said. “And you let her die. All so you could … complete your _collection.”_ The venom in his voice was undimmed by the presence of tears. “Was it worth it?”

The words impaled Atem — left him struggling for breath like a wounded animal. Air rushed back into his lungs only when an echo of footsteps entered the chamber and drew Metjen’s iron stare away. Mahad soon emerged at the bottom of the stairs, and he dropped into a deep bow upon realizing the moment he’d disturbed.

“I apologize, Pharaoh,” he said, voice thick with solemnity. “The embalmers are asking if they should prepare the queen’s remains for transport back to the capital.”

When Metjen turned back around, Atem quickly averted his eyes again. For a torturous moment, he looked upon Satiah’s face one last time — willing himself to remember the perfect smile she had given him before returning to the warm embrace of the afterlife. 

“No,” he said, standing sharply. “Bury her with her kin. Her soul should not be forced to wander in search of those she loved.”

Head still angled low, Atem left his wife’s side and cut by Metjen and Mahad, finally feeling the raw throb of the wound in his cheek.

* * *

Two weeks passed as slow as wind eroding stone, during which Satiah’s body was embalmed, swathed, and prepared for burial. Atem existed in a constant state of numbness, having to fight to keep himself present enough for even the most basic of governing duties. Thankfully, the rest of the court soon arrived from Thebes, and they were quick to step in to help their king cope with his loss.

As news spread of the queen’s death, mourners from all over the kingdom began flooding into Memphis to pay their respects. Atem knew he shouldn’t be surprised by the outpouring of support — though Satiah had only been considered royalty for four months, and served as queen for even less time, she and her family had been the subject of great admiration all across Lower Egypt for decades. But somehow, seeing the grief permeating among nobles and commoners alike only deepend Atem’s guilt.

When the day of her entombment finally arrived, Atem could not even bring himself to leave his bedchamber. Instead, he prepared himself in solitude — dressed in his finest clothes, tinted his eyes with paint and ink, and donned his most formal regalia. He stared at his reflection as he slid the blue-and-gold _nemes_ down over his brow, and it suddenly struck him — that he hadn’t worn the headdress since his wedding day.

The thought cut him like a knife — visceral enough to send a glimmer of tears into the corners of his eyes. He pressed the heels of his hands deep into his head, as if that might physically force the despair back inside him. If not for a loud, sudden knock at the door of the residence, he might have been unable to hold in his anguish. After sucking in a deep breath, he stood up and tidied the smudges of ink beneath his eyes, then called out, “Come in.”

The door creaked open and closed, followed by the sound of uneven footsteps climbing the stairs. Atem turned and watched as Jahar entered the bedchamber, who stopped and gave as deep a bow as his cane allowed him. He, too, was wearing his best robes in preparation for the burial of his most beloved student.

“You wanted to see me, Pharaoh?” he asked, straightening.

Atem gave a single nod. Jahar looked at him expectantly, but Atem failed to find his words. Though the priest’s gaze was not as severe as Metjen’s, it was still shrewd and calculating — as if he were flaying back Atem’s skin and peering into the soul left behind.

Finally, Atem cleared his throat. “Tomorrow, the royal court will make its way back to Thebes,” he said. “When we leave, Memphis and its Conclave will have its rulership restored.”

Jahar’s expression remained unchanged by this news — not a single glimmer of joy or flicker of relief.

“Metjen will return to his former role as nomarch,” Atem went on, to ensure Jahar understood completely, “and you will be allowed to reclaim your title of Chief Priest, if you wish.”

Again, Jahar gave no reaction. He simply took a deep breath — in, and then out. “I suppose you think that will fix everything?” he said at last.

Atem gaped at the old man. His sorrow suddenly turned to festering rage. “Would you rather I threw you back in prison?” he spat, pivoting toward the priest. “Would you rather I had put you both to death, like everyone said I should have?” His scalp burned with a familiar pain — a shard of bitterness driven in and splintered off during their brutal duel. “Is that what you want from me?” He raised his voice to a near shout, punctuated by more prickling silence. _“Is it?!”_

“I want nothing from you, Pharaoh,” Jahar snapped. “What I want, no man on earth could give to me.”

Though his words were sharp, Atem felt as if they were cauterizing his wounds. The searing pain turned to a dull throb — softer, yes, but pervading, as if it might ache in him forever. “Then what am I supposed to do?” he breathed, sorrow returning to choke at his throat. “What are any of us supposed to do?”

He sank down on the edge of his bed, hanging his head heavily in both hands. The anger that raked pins and needles across his flesh was the only thing keeping his tears at bay. When Jahar hobbled forward to lay a hand on Atem’s shoulder, the needles turned to blistering spikes. He jerked back, sweeping his arm out to cast the old man’s touch away. Jahar didn’t flinch. The coals of his eyes flared to life with defiance.

“Have you learned nothing from her?” Jahar whispered, his breath like hot desert wind. “She did not give her life so that you could wallow in your own self-pity. If you must weep, do not fool yourself into believing you weep for her. For she has found more joy now than you or I deserve in a thousand lifetimes.” Jahar looked up, casting his eyes around the ceiling as if he were watching a tiny bird fluttering between the rafters. “What should you do, you ask?” He straightened and folded both hands over the pommel of his cane. “Stop making the same foolish mistakes as your father. Stop searching for the future within the rubble of the past. Instead, build from it. And defend what you build with your life — just as she did.”

Jahar reached out again, and this time Atem did not recoil from the man’s touch. It was heavy with all the wisdom of his many years — but also with compassion. For the first time, it felt as if someone were truly trying to help Atem make sense of a world without Satiah. Many men and women had come and gone offering sympathetic words and pitying prayers. But it had all fallen into the abyss of his heart — all of it, except this touch. This lifeline. This _purpose_ that Satiah had given her life to protect.

For weeks, he had been asking himself — _why?_ Why had she given up on the future she had fought so hard to forge? Perhaps it was because she believed the vision she saw in Ra’s black mirror — that her husband was destined to become a cruel and monstrous king. Perhaps she saw it a mercy to remove herself and her child from such an existence. But as Atem looked up, into the eyes of a man who had known Satiah since birth, he remembered. This was not her way. The only fate she had ever believed in was the one of her own making. 

No. The truth was infinitely worse than the lie he’d been telling himself. The truth — _Satiah’s_ truth — was this: that she had only given up her future because she knew her husband was too weak, too prideful, too deluded to forsake his own.

Slowly, Jahar drew away and bowed before his king. When he turned to leave, Atem blinked back a sudden glare pouring in from the window across the way — the capstone of the Great Pyramid, shimmering like the first star of night against the indigo sky.

* * *

Atem had rarely seen dawn breaking upon the Valley of the Kings. Pharaohs and their families were only ever entombed at dusk, when the sun strained its way out from behind the flat plateau beyond it, casting a holy crown across the horizon. Now, as the royal ship lazed by the Valley on its way toward the capital, Ra’s light touched every crack and crevice carved into the mountainside. 

At the peak of the winding road leading into the Valley itself, sunlight warmed the faces of the statues flanking either side of the path — Osiris and Horus. Father and Son. They came to life against the cerulean sky, but even bathed in the breath of their creator, they seemed forlorn. Atem knew it was because their true warmth was missing: Osiris, his wife and Horus, his mother — Iset.

Leaning over the starboard railing, Atem watched them — could all but see the whites of their eyes moving as the ship skimmed by, yawing gently to the east as it did. As if heeding some unspoken call from the goddess of her namesake, Isis soon came to join Atem at the side of the ship. Her eyes were as deep and fathomless as the Nile. For all her wise intuition, it seemed the only thing she could now predict was the question poised on the tip of her king’s tongue.

“Did you see this future?” he asked, still watching as the father and son receded into the haze of morning.

“I saw … this darkness,” she confessed, in a voice that felt as thin as seafoam. “But her light shone through it.” She lifted her hand and folded it over the molded Eye of her Necklace. “Even now, I still feel it.”

Atem wished he could say the same. All he felt now were the weak flickers of the things she left behind — the words she’d spoken, the sound of her laughter, the memory of her smile. All things, he knew, which would soon begin to fade, weathering in the ceaseless ebb of time — just like his mother. His brother. His father.

“She is waiting for you,” Isis said, her words suddenly a crashing wave. “They both are.”

This truth, more than anything, was what terrified Atem. He’d heard it countless times in the prior weeks — as if it was supposed to be some comfort that she was _there_ and he was _here_ , just waiting for the fickle fortune of death to reunite them. But coming from Isis, the notion felt more real than ever. How could any man be expected to submit himself to the pains of life knowing his greatest treasure was only a heartbeat away on the shores of the afterlife?

Atem gave a curt nod, as if to assure her he understood, even though he didn’t. But soon, the ship was easing its way into royal waters, and Isis seemed to realize her time was running short. She bent into a steep, burdened bow, then backed away to join the rest of the court standing portside. When the ship finally bumped into the wharf at the foot of the palace, Atem moved to join them. On the stone stairs below, Shimon waited alone. He looked as though he’d aged another decade over the last three months, but the shine of hope in his eyes was clear even from this distance.

Once the disembarking platform was secured, the Guardians made their way down it, one by one. Atem was last to descend, lagging so far behind that Shimon was forced to take several long strides to meet him. The elderly vizier stretched his arms wide, and Atem fell into them without hesitation. For a moment, it felt as though he were embracing his father again, even though Shimon was little more than half the height of the former Pharaoh. Had there not been a multitude sets of eyes gazing upon him, Atem might have broken down and wept right there. Instead, he forced himself to pull away. Shimon said nothing, but his thin lips wavered up into a condoling smile.

Together, Atem and his advisors began the slow walk back toward the palace. In the gardens, every tree, every stem, every blossom felt somehow different, as if they’d all withered and died in his absence, only to grow anew once more. But the uncanniness of it all didn’t hit him fully until he rounded the corner to the Sacred Lake. There, the sun filtered through the palm leaves and glittered upon the bluegreen water, painting a perfect replica of the morning he and Satiah had made their lifelong vow to one another. The sight struck him to stillness, and all at once he understood the meaning of Isis’ words.

The living memory was interrupted by a sudden wisp of movement in his periphery. He turned to see Mana rising up off the far edge of the Lake, her posture stiff and obstinate. She fell sharply into motion, blowing in like a sandstorm, stopping before him at arm’s length. Atem could see clearly the red gleam in her eyes and the quiver of her lower lip.

It happened quick — she raised her hand and tried to strike him, but Atem caught her wrist at the last moment. His other hand snapped up to clutch her shoulder, supporting her as she crumpled against him. Though she struggled to find her feet and pull her hand away, she soon gave in and let herself come undone in his arms. Tears gripped her — silent at first, her shoulders convulsing and eyes squeezed shut. But when an inward breath filled her lungs, the full burden of her anger and woe rushed forth like a starshower.

“Bring her _back!”_ she cried, her voice keening through the courtyard. 

“Mana—”

“I don’t understand! Why didn’t she come back—?”

_“—Mana!”_

“She said she’d come _home—_ ”

Atem wrapped his arms tight around her, muffling her words and cries into his shoulder. As he held her there, each tear she shed felt though it were seeping beneath his skin, collecting in his heart. “I don’t understand either,” he whispered, quiet enough so only she could hear. “But I think she _is_ home, Mana. I think she’s where she needs to be.”

“But how do you _know?”_

He wanted to tell her — wanted to paint the picture of A’aru for her, with its rows of golden reeds, warm sun, and gentle breeze. Wanted to tell her all about the little soul he’d seen by the water’s edge, and the joy that had followed Satiah when she’d left his side. But try as he might to find the words, nothing in this world seemed enough to capture this beauty, this grace, this peace. Instead, he stroked Mana’s hair and dried her tears, until Mahad finally approached and peeled her away from him. They walked toward the palace, shoulder to shuddering shoulder, taking the rest of the court with them.

But Atem stayed behind, staggering forward to lower himself down on the edge of the Sacred Lake. He let his eyes fall to the surface of the Lake beside him. There, floating upon the water’s surface, was a single lotus blossom — cut free from its stem and drifting by on the gentle current. He reached down to cup the blossom, and when he pulled it up to hold it in his lap, he thought this might be the closest thing to A’aru he would ever find on earth.

* * *

Atem hardly slept anymore.

How could he, when in his bedchamber his wife still lived and breathed? Her scent lingered on the cushions of their bed, no matter how many times the linens were soaked and scrubbed and hung to dry in the beating sun. He heard her voice in the whisper of the wind — gentle, familiar sighs of content. In the light of the full moon, as was shining upon Egypt tonight, he could all but see her silhouette standing at the window, veiled by the billowing curtains, looking out over her domain. But he knew even if he called her name, she would not turn.

So instead, he would rise, dress in silence, and walk through the moonsplashed halls, where there was less of her to be seen and heard and felt. He’d breach the open air on the east side of the palace — see the first drop of dawn bleeding into the inky sky over the Shrines of Wedju. But he would not linger. Instead, he would descend the steep stairs, ignoring startled looks from the dozing guards, and walk across the wide, flat stones until he found himself inside his own Shrine.

He would always try to resist — that pull to look at them. The Gods. Hung high on the walls like soulless trophies. Beautiful, yes — but empty. Nothing more than portals to a void where only power and might and unending destruction reigned supreme.

Instead he would lower his eyes, down to the slabs that were full and vibrant and infinitely more precious to him. For here was where his wife truly lived — nestled between the tablets of his father and mother, directly above his own. The last fragment of her essence, clinging to the world of the living. 

Even from her towering place of slumber, the Shieldmaiden’s eyes remained open. Watchful. Alive. And though he longed to call upon the warrior, to visit with her as he had done so many times with the spirits of his fallen kin, he hadn’t yet found the strength. It was easy, now, to conjure up the _ka_ of his mother, who had been gone from his life almost as long as she’d been in it. Likewise, the seal of silence had been broken on the spirits of his father and brother the moment he’d called upon them in the Valley of the Kings. But to summon his wife’s _ka_ — even after the finality of her entombment, even after _seeing_ her pass to the afterlife with his own eyes — seemed like a line he could never uncross. A stele etched deep into stone, marking the everlasting truth of it all.

But how could he have forgotten the one and only promise he had ever kept to her? That her choices would be hers and hers alone. That promise had not ceased with her death — and just as it had been her choice to leave this piece of her spirit trapped in stone, so too would it be her choice to lift the curtain of darkness and call upon it.

So he watched, breathless, as his wife’s tablet glowed hot and white, each carved line bleeding with spiritual essence, rushing forth like a broken dam to pool on the floor of the Shrine. When the Shieldmaiden of Sekhmet took her corporeal form, she was crouched down on one knee, her head bowed in unmerited reverence, her weapon laid dutifully at her side.

In a moment that should have been euphoric, Atem felt his skin catch aflame with anger. This was not how he wished to remember his wife — bent over like a servant, waiting to be used at his whim. He surged forward a step, causing her to lift her black eyes with a start.

“Rise,” he said.

Hesitating, she swayed her shoulders back, causing her silver shield to glint where it lay braced against the floor.

_“Stand!”_

She flinched, but obeyed, taking up her spear and rising to her full, towering height. Atem stared hard, but not quite _at_ her. Rather, he traced the sweeping curves of her shield, the bristling fur of the lion’s pelt upon her head, the rigid lines of her posture. These were the memories he would keep — living proof of his wife’s strength, grace, and will.

“You are not _mine,”_ he declared, as true as if it had been written in the stars. “This is _not_ your _home.”_

But she resisted, and the flame in Atem’s heart burned only deeper. He swept his arm out to the wall, where her tablet still glowed warmly. 

“Go!”

Slowly, the Shieldmaiden looked over her shoulder, gazing up at her stone prison. Atem could feel his breaths coming in shallow rasps now, his vision misting with a shimmer that turned the torches on the walls into bleeding stars. When the Shieldmaiden looked back, tears were gathering in her eyes as well.

_“Do it!”_

She braced herself and turned fully, readying her spear in a javelin hold. She held it there, perched over her shoulder, fist tight and trembling. Atem watched, mouth half-parted as if to cry out again — but all the air had long since left his lungs, leaving him hollow to the core.

Finally, the Shieldmaiden answered his wordless plea — heaved her weight into a powerful thrust and released the spear. It sang like a freed bird as it sliced through the air, connecting squarely with the middle of her stone tablet. The slab cracked almost perfectly down the middle, then in half again, and again, until pieces began breaking away and falling thunderously to the floor of the Shrine. Each shard was like a weight bearing down upon his soul, pulling him to his hands and knees — threatening to drag him into the very underworld itself. He lifted his head just in time to meet eyes with the last remnant of Satiah’s spirit, watching through a haze of tears as she faded forever from the world of the living.

* * *

 **AN:** Words can’t express how grateful I am that you have reached the end of this fic. Yes, this is the true end of Atem and Satiah’s tale. Of course I’m so sad to have torn them away from one another, but Ascension was always meant to be a complement to the canon — not a replacement for it. To that end, I have planned one final chapter — an epilogue, to tie it all back to where Atem’s first story ended, and where his second one began. Keep an eye out for that soon.

Again, thank you so much for your readership. It means the world to me that you kept coming back, all the way to the very last word.


	43. Epilogue: Name

Before the resurrection of Zorac, Seto had not known true Darkness.

Even the depths of a tomb seemed warm and welcoming compared to the crushing shadows which now drenched the kingdom of Egypt. It had been seared into his mind’s eye — the moment when Zorac reached up and smothered the sun with an eclipse made from his own hand. Empowered by the darkness, he went on to smite all three of the Holy  _ Ka _ , as easily as snuffing out the flame of a candle. 

However, it was not just the absence of the sun which swelled Zorac’s strength — but the absence of  _ hope _ . From his vantage atop the highest pylon of the royal palace, Seto could see despair infecting priest and peasant alike, as potent as the venom of an asp, pervading the city of Thebes where it lay cowering before Zorac’s impending wrath.

Though Seto had heard legends of the God’s might, there were no words on earth which seemed capable of capturing Zorac’s vile essence. In his corporeal form, he rose even taller than the Great Pyramid itself, his hulking body painted in scales as dark as the void between stars. Two great wings sprouted from his back, and from his sinuous core stretched out a dragon’s head, which spit and spewed fire mercilessly upon the land.

Between white-hot flares of destruction, the only other glimmers to be seen on the horizon were the God’s hungry eyes, shining like rubies against the black sky, and flashes of magic as scores of Egypt’s finest spellcasters threw themselves at the towering beast, only to be cut down like wheat against the blade of a sickle. Shortly after the defeat of the Holy Gods, the Conclave’s dwindling numbers had been reinforced by a battalion of priests from the north — led by the former queen’s father and mentor. Bravely, they had covered their Pharaoh’s retreat, who had been nearly drained of his  _ ba _ after the utter destruction of his three most powerful spirit warriors.

Seto had never been so happy to see the priests of Lower Egypt, whom he had once regarded almost as traitors. But even their selfless courage was proving to be little more than a nuisance to the Lord of Darkness, who reveled mirthfully in slaying their  _ ka _ , one after another. Seto wanted to weep for them, but his spirit had been whittled to a whisper in his own struggle against Zorac. His heart ached to remember the White Dragon’s last stand against the Darkness —  _ Kisara’s _ last stand. 

Like so many, she had given her life to preserve what little hope remained in the face of such peril, joining the ever-growing count of casualties: Karim, slain while fleeing Kul Elna; Isis, fallen as she delivered the Millennium Items to safe hands once more; Shimon and Shada, struck down defending their king against Zorac’s first advance.

And Aknadin. The man Seto had known as mentor for well over a year — and as father for only a fleeting moment. But it seemed a millennium now since Aknadin had revealed the truth of Seto’s lineage — of his royal blood. Cousin to a king, he was — and son of a  _ true _ traitor. For it was Aknadin’s betrayal which had brought about the rebirth of Zorac — and which had almost tempted Seto to turn to darkness as well.

These thoughts stirred a tempest of guilt in his soul as he looked down the length of the parapet, where his king sat hunched on a crate, using his teeth to pull a bandage taut around a deep gash in his arm. Mana stood at his back, blotting another open wound with the edge of her skirt, the white linen drenched and dripping red. It was at that moment Seto began to feel the pains of his own wounds — the dull ache of a broken rib, the throb of deep bruises forming on his knees, the raw chill in his knuckles, skinned nearly to the bone. But whatever pain Seto felt was nothing compared to the desperation which painted itself so clearly on the Pharaoh’s face, hollowing his eyes as he was forced to watch the utter ruin of his kingdom.

Suddenly, those eyes turned to Seto, who found himself drowning in their fathomless depths. He watched as thin lips moved, and though he could not hear the words over the distant clash of battle, he knew his king had summoned him by name. 

On trembling legs, Seto moved to stand before the Pharaoh. Yet more blood was seething out from somewhere on his scalp, running over his gold crown and weeping down the side of his face. For a long time, he said nothing — simply stared up at Seto with eyes as deep as the underworld. Behind him, Mana wept in silence, her shoulders trembling like palm leaves in the wind.

“Do you have the Items?” the Pharaoh asked at last.

Seto blinked, then looked down at his hands, which were clenched in trembling fists around two objects — his own Millennium Rod, and a satchel laden with the rest of the Items. Slowly, he bent to lay the satchel at his king’s feet.

Again, the Pharaoh did not move — simply regarded the satchel with a fleeting glance before returning his gaze to the horizon. Seto watched as a white flare of magic flecked off the king’s glassy eyes.

“When we stood before Ra … he asked me to give up my birthright.” The Pharaoh’s voice was soft — so soft Seto barely heard it again. “I didn’t understand what he meant then… But now I do.” When he looked back, there was a shine of tears in his eyes. “I see now I was not meant to rule this kingdom. But I may still be able to save it.”

Seto’s first instinct was to protest such a dire statement. Why would the king renounce his title while at that very moment, legions of his subjects were sacrificing themselves in his name? But Seto realized quickly this instinct was rooted in selfishness — that he was still letting guilt of his near-betrayal veil his judgment. With so much hanging in the balance, it was no longer important to hold onto pride or pedigree.

The king ran his tongue along the corner of his mouth to clear away a trail of blood running past. He glanced down at the bag lain by his feet. “Use the Key,” he said. “Enter my mind.” His voice was stronger now — a clear command. But then, tears cut trails through the soot and cruor on his face, and in a whisper, he begged, “Take her away from me.”

Seto nearly laughed. Perhaps his king was truly going mad. It was one thing for a man to forsake his title in the face of such adversity, but another thing entirely to willfully offer up beloved memories as lambs to slaughter. Even Seto, who had his own complicated history with the former queen, would never be so callous as to wish her out of existence.

But then he realized: this was not just a king’s commandment to his subject — this was the last will of a condemned man.

“I have seen what awaits me on the other side of this life,” the Pharaoh went on. For a moment, Seto glimpsed it too — a glow of warmth and joy behind this heavy curtain of darkness. “The temptation to seek it is too great. I must not let my selfish desires sway me from my path … lest her sacrifice be in vain.”

Seto fought hard to keep pity from infecting his heart. He had to remind himself — the king was not asking for pity. He was not asking for the world to mourn his plight. Quite the opposite — he was asking the world to turn its back on him.

With a quivering exhale, Seto lowered his head and stared down at the contents of the satchel, glittering like stars even in the oppressive darkness. Slowly, he bent and sifted through the remnants of his father’s betrayal, laying his Rod within and taking up the ankh-shaped Key instead. He then stepped forward, tightening his fingers around the curved handle of the Key and raising it to waist-height. Suddenly, Mana surged forward and grasped the Pharaoh’s shoulder, choking on a loud sob. The king blinked free another shower of tears, but he never once looked away from Seto, even as he crossed his arm over his chest and took hold of Mana’s hand.

Bracing himself, Seto stretched out his trembling arm, only to stop as the Pharaoh’s free hand flew up to wrap around his wrist. “Seto,” he said, voice thinner than wind through reeds. “Let my name be the only key to unlock this truth.”

Seto was quick to nod his understanding. Slowly, the king pulled Seto’s hand the rest of the way, until the tip of the Key connected with his forehead. Only then did he allow his eyes to close and his grip to slacken, waiting as still as a statue until the moment Seto turned the Key and invaded his mind.

Breathless, Seto felt himself squeezing through dimensions, blinded in the glare of a thousand wheeling thoughts. When at last his feet touched solid earth, he collapsed to his knees and pulled in a steep, life-giving breath that echoed thinly through the depths of his king’s heart. As Seto raised his eyes, he found them met with an unwelcoming maze of cold stone, stairs, and doors. Whatever haven this had once been was now no more than a prison of painful memories.

Quickly, Seto staggered to his feet and turned in a circle, wondering where he should begin his search for remnants of the queen. But he did not have to wonder long, for her presence was palpable — a warm thread of hope strung through the empty chill. It led Seto deeper into his king’s consciousness — down a winding stairway, through a close tunnel, past the edge of an abyss — until he came upon a door marked with a wide, bloodshot eye. He raised a hand and pushed it open, revealing more thick darkness, broken only by the vague outline of a chair in the center of the room. Not a chair, he thought — but a throne.

Upon entering the chamber, another silhouette took shape, moving toward Seto at a gentle, swaying pace. As it did, the light from the door threw itself deep enough to reveal the queen’s features against the darkness. It was at that moment Seto realized the throne was empty — and had been, all along. The queen had only been standing beside it. Watching.  _ Waiting _ .

She continued forward, her face stony but eyes a flickering fire. She seemed unsurprised by his presence — nay, almost  _ relieved _ . After a quiet moment, she glanced over her shoulder at the empty throne. “You’re here to take me away,” she said, looking back at him, “aren’t you?”

Seto nodded once.

At this, she lowered her eyes and folded her hands over her middle. “It grows colder by the minute,” she whispered. “I can feel his heart waning.”

“There is hope yet,” Seto heard himself say.

The queen looked up, and a smile carved itself onto her face. “Indeed,” she said, gliding forward until she was within arm’s reach of him. 

Her noble radiance and his own burning shame beat harshly across his brow, causing him to drop his eyes. He watched the edge of her skirt brushing the ground, and he wondered how it was that the king’s memory had held onto all these mystifying, beautiful, intimate details.

“Seto,” she said, summoning his eyes back up to hers. There was love in them, unlike anything he had ever seen before. “Promise me he will not be alone. Promise you will go with him to the end.”

He swallowed hard. “I swear it.”

Another smile turned her lips heavenward. It was a quiet, compassionate gesture, meant to stand in for all the words that were too complex for this remnant of her spirit to utter. Finally, she raised her arm to offer her hand, palm-up and steady. Seto stared into it for a long, torturous moment before finally allowing himself to slip his hand into hers.

Instantly, the world around him crumbled, sending him plummeting through wide, blinding light again. But he held firm to the queen’s hand, pulling on her like a thread until the tapestry of her existence had unraveled itself from her husband’s memories.

When he surged into darkness once more, he blinked wildly and lowered his hand, finding it clenched instead around cold gold. Across from him, the Pharaoh’s eyes fluttered open. He swayed lightly a moment, as if he’d just been awoken from a peaceful dream. His tears were gone, the whites of his eyes stained red and dry as fire.

Suddenly, he surged to his feet and drew Seto in for a firm embrace. Seto stood staggered for a moment, but the queen’s words echoed in his heart, driving him to wrap his arms around his king — his  _ cousin _ . Seto felt tears pricking at his own eyes, knowing he was embracing a man who could have been like a brother to him had fate not driven them apart.

It was Atem who drew away first. Like the memory of his wife, words failed him — emptied of everything but the purpose he had yet to fulfill. After squeezing Seto’s shoulder, Atem stepped back and turned to where Mana stood. She threw her arms around his neck and stifled keening wails into him. He held her for only a brief moment before lifting his hand and summoning the familiar spirit of her former master, who had been given new life after merging with his  _ ka _ , the Black Magician.

Atem peeled himself away from Mana, shepherding her instead into Mahad’s waiting embrace. The master held to his apprentice, allowing Atem to steal away from both of them. He turned to face Seto again and gave a decisive nod. 

Together, they made the long, slow trek down the pylon’s stairs, out of the safe embrace of the palace, and through the abandoned streets of Thebes. Sand and heat and the bitter wind of magic whipped their faces as they walked, until they passed the southernmost gate of the city and entered Zorac’s looming shadow. From here, the God’s wicked laughter gripped the air like thunderclaps as he stomped and ripped and decimated the northern priests’  _ ka _ . 

It was not long before Zorac became aware of the new presence. After turning his ruby-red eyes on Atem and Seto, the God threw his head back and erupted with yet more bellowing laughter. Above him, a small, birdlike  _ ka _ attempted to sweep in for an attack, but Zorac simply snatched the creature out of the air. Lazily, he reached his free hand up and gripped the other half of the  _ ka _ , snapping it in two as easily as breaking bread.

With a satisfied chuckle, Zorac threw the smoking carcass toward where Seto and Atem stood. While Seto flinched back and covered his head, Atem stood his ground — watching with near indifference as the two halves of the spirit’s corporeal form skidded along the sand, stopping within mere feet of him. Soon, the pieces turned to dust and whispered away on the wind.

Having seen the emergence of their king, the few remaining northern priests began a hasty retreat, disappearing down the steep slope of the southern road. Zorac gave another amused grunt as he watched them go, then turned his eyes back to the new, more pressing threat.

“Have you finally come to surrender?” Zorac asked, his voice as deep as a war drum.

Atem said nothing. The wind ripped at his tattered cloak, and in the thin light of the eclipse’s corona, Seto saw the Pendant glint.

Zorac groaned impatiently. “Look around you, Pharaoh! Your forces are scattered — your city has fallen. Not even your Holy Gods could overcome my Darkness!”

Seto flicked his eyes across the high dunes to the east and west, where lay the fossilized remains of Ra, Osiris, and Horus.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Zorac challenged, raising his palms to the sky. “From the moment your kin made a pact with my Darkness, you were untethered from the leash of your oppressors — the foolish Order of Light. Without them, you were free to take your fate into your own hands.” He pointed a clawed finger down toward Atem. “So you see, Pharaoh — every choice you have made has led you to this moment. You have no one to blame for this reality but yourself! The Darkness is your truth, and  _ I _ am all that will remain upon your passing!”

Atem took three long strides forward and lowered his eyes to the ground. Seto could see Atem’s shoulders rolling forward, but it was only to unburden himself of his Pendant, which he cradled in both hands like a newborn child.

“It is true,” Atem admitted. “I am responsible for my own fate — and the fate of this nation. But you are wrong, Zorac.” He lifted his head to meet the God’s gaze. “Because that truth does not end with my death. I still have a choice — a choice to pass on my legacy. Even if my name should be erased from history, those who come after me will inherit my Light.” Seto saw the flash of Atem’s eyes turning in his direction. “They will wield it with strength and grace, and prove to the gods mankind is worthy of our sovereignty.”

Zorac made a low, guttural sound. “Resistant to the end!” he cried, concealing his frustration with another laugh. “So be it. If you desire so badly to be a martyr for the Light, I will grant you this last wish.” The God’s dragon-head reared and parted its jaws, gathering a storm of fire within. The heat rippled the air, until Seto was forced to raise an arm to shield his face from the inferno. His soul thrashed with fervid defiance, knowing there was nothing to be done to save his flesh and blood from impending death.

But then — amidst the glare of hellfire came a new light. Holy and pure — radiating from Atem’s hands, which he raised high over his head. Then, bearing the weight of the world, he came crashing to his knees and dashed the light against the surface of a discarded shield, lying half-buried in the sand before him. The Pendant shattered into a starshower, casting dozens of glittering pieces across the ground.

In that moment, an entire millennium could have fit inside a single grain of sand. In the sky above, the eclipse surged into motion — finally revealing a sliver of Ra’s light to be cast upon the Lord of Darkness. Zorac roared in pain and anger as more beams of light pierced its black hide from within, erupting outward as if he’d been run through with a thousand spears. By the time the sun emerged fully, the God became no more than a stony monolith, eroding into dust to be whipped away with the desert winds.

Seto was so consumed with Zorac’s destruction, he almost failed to notice another spirit rising up into the light along with the God. Ahead, the king’s earthly body was turning white and hazy, enough that Seto could very nearly see through it. With the last of his will, he turned his head over his shoulder and smiled at Seto. 

When the breeze carried his essence away, he left nothing behind. Desperate, Seto stumbled forward, collapsing to his hands and knees and sifting through the sands until his fingers closed around a cold fragment of gold. He lifted it up and gazed at the molded eye carved on its surface, and somehow, he knew. He knew that the Pharaoh lived on — not in this life, nor even in the next … but in the hearts of his people. 

No longer a king, but a wandering spirit, waiting for the moment when history would remember his name.

* * *

**AN:** Thank y'all so much for coming with me on this wild ride. It feel so, so good to finally call this one "complete." I hope that if you made it this far, I was able to bring you little bit of joy, a little bit of sadness, a little bit of _feeling_ with my words. God knows I felt all of those things when I was writing this, and I'm feeling them all at once now that it's over. 

To those who were asking about potentially continuing Atem's and Satiah's story in the modern era... I have been giving it some serious thought. But it will likely be some time before I'm ready to walk that path. I need some time to breathe and decompress from this _monster_ of a fic! But if I ever get around to it, I hope you'll consider giving it a read.

Regardless, thank you again for coming this far. Really, truly, thank you!

Till next time! Much love,

Tarangifer


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